Artemisia
by knottedblonde
Summary: "She's just about to touch the tip of the pen to the plaster of his cast when something forces her to glance up, her eyes immediately catching his. She doesn't like the way he's looking at her, with affection. Like they're friends. Because they're not." Artemis-Centric, following the events of Season 1. Eventual Spitfire.
1. Prologue: Remembering

**AN: Enjoy the first chapter.**

* * *

 _Artemisia: An aromatic or bitter-tasting plant of a genus that includes wormwood, mugwort, and sagebrush. Several kind of Artemisia are used in herbal medicine and many are cultivated for their feathery grey foliage. Middle English; via Latin from Greek, named after the goddess Artemis, to whom it was sacred._

* * *

"Artemis is a born runner."

They're the first words she can remember her father saying. She can't be older than three, maybe four, pretending to be asleep on the couch with the hope that he'll have one of his unexpected bouts of affection and carry her off to bed; so far she's been disappointed. She can hear the rare note of pride in his voice echoing off the cabinets in the kitchen, the first time in weeks her parents haven't been arguing.

"You say that like it's a good thing." Her mother replies, snorting slightly. There's a familiar bite to her voice, and unbeknownst to her now it is the same sharp tone that Jade will adopt in the years to come.

There's a clink of glass against the counter and the smell of cheap wine fills the room. "Of course it's a good thing. If she can run she'll never be caught."

"Wouldn't you rather have a daughter who can face her problems?"

"I already have one of those."

Artemis feigns a snore and for a moment the kitchen is quiet. Then Lawrence speaks. "Let's not kid around here Paula. She's not like Jade. She isn't going to be able to cope with the kind of life we live."

"So what? You're just going to let her keep running away the second someone whips out a gun? You won't be doing her any favors."

"… I'm just trying to keep the brat alive."

There's more silence in the kitchen.

* * *

She can't place it on a timeline, she just remembers laughing.

The three of them are all piled on their uncomfortable couch, a mess of limbs and hair and the same steely grey eyes, all laughing at something they've seen on television. A mother and her daughters.

Her mother pulls back and strokes her bangs off her forehead, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. "Beautiful Artemis." She coos. Jade leans in, pushing herself on her mother until the older woman is pressing her lips against her skin too.

The door bangs open and the smell of stale cigarettes floats through the apartment. For a moment Lawrence simply looks at the three of them, exhausted from the evening's work and the blood caked under his finger nails. His face cracks into a rare smile.

"There's my girls." He grins, stumbling towards the couch to fall a little roughly on the three of them. There's some squealing and they're all laughing and she wishes she could freeze time and live on the lumpy couch forever.

As time goes on she can't quite tell if it's a real memory or something she made up. Sometimes she'll recall it at odd moments and still wonder if that kind of happiness ever reached the four story Gotham walkup.

* * *

Her knees are beginning to ache from sitting cross-legged for so long, but she knows she can't move now—the string is nearly in place on her bow and the slightest movement could completely undo any progress she's made. Her father gave her the bow a few weeks ago, a finicky instrument that requires too much pruning to ever give her a hope of using it properly. But he gave it to her and not to Jade, and she's decided that it's a sign that he has faith in her.

She's determined to master it.

"Brat." Is Jade's greeting as she enters their bedroom, flopping down beside her. The jostling movement combined with her half-glance at her sister forces her to accidentally increase the tension, the string crackling as it snaps apart.

She swears under her breath, words too foul for a seven year old. "Jade!" She huffs, a few stray pieces of hair escaping her pigtails. "You made me do that!"

Her sister merely shrugs. At 13, Jade is already more beautiful than she ever will be; her ebony hair is beginning to wave with puberty, the first traces of make-up enhancing her olive skin and making her eyes—so much darker and prettier than Artemis'—look both entrancing and terrifying at the same time. "Not my fault you don't know how to use that thing."

"I do so! Dad is teaching me!"

Jade smirks, crossing her arms across her chest. "If you know how to use it then why aren't you coming with us tonight?"

The indignant look on her face drops slightly, her lower lip beginning to protrude. "They're taking you tonight? Again?"

In answer, her father's voice sounds from somewhere beyond the kitchen. "Jade!"

Her older sister smirks before getting to her feet. "Don't wait up, baby girl."

* * *

She's ten now, standing beside her sister in a dark alley way. Her muscles are tensed and her left hand keeps reaching up, almost twitchingly, to check the number of arrows in her quiver. It's her first time out with the family, with part of their team—her first test, as her father had put it.

"Remember," Jade whispers, crouching low beside her. They're wearing identical black spandex suits, Jade look invincible and grown up and Artemis looking like… Artemis. "We're just the look out, okay? That means almost no action. But if something does happen… Just don't expect me to cover your back, okay? Every girl for herself—"

There's a wail of sirens coming from around the corner, and before Artemis has time to be scared or excited Jade's already leapt out in front of her, launching herself out of the alley. "Party's over!" She screeches into the night.

Her father bursts out of a second story window, showering glass onto the street, followed shortly by her mother, who lands gracefully beside him. Paula looks like some sort of werewolf, her hair streaming behind her and her chest covered in someone else's blood. She's wearing a satisfied sort of smirk that strikes the kind of fear into Artemis that can't be explained, only felt. "It's done!" She shouts.

"Mom, what—" Her mother doesn't even listen to her question; she's already drawing weapons from unexpected places, beginning to circle around the street with knives in her fist as the wail of police sirens gets so loud her ears are aching. Between the sirens, the screaming, and the dull sound of her sister's sai sinking into a policeman's chest, something registers in the back of her mind.

Her mother is a murderer.

She's standing blankly in the middle of the battle, one hand still reaching up to check her quiver. She watches Jade plummet a sai into the cheekbone of an un-expecting victim, an imperfect shot. Her sister twists her wrist until flesh is scooped off bone, blood pouring—

"Artemis!" Her father yells.

She pulls herself out of her trance, trying not to let the violence of the scene get to her. The smell of blood is filling the air, bullets rebounding off street lamps and the sound of someone spitting a distress call into a crackling radio. She's just pulled her bow string taught and taken aim when her mother screams.

It all happens slowly. Her mother is suspended in midair yet somehow rooted to the ground, bullet after bullet entering her body, colliding with shoulder, hip, neck, and spine. She can see blood bursting from her mother's skin, can see her muscles contracting and trying to contain the bullets, can see her knees give out and can see the blood soaking the pavement as she crumples into a heap. She can see people running towards her, and for a moment her mother lifts her head from the pavement, her eyes locking on hers and blood pouring from her mouth.

Then everything speeds up and her mother's eyes are gone and Paula is screaming again. "Take them and go, Lawrence!" Her arms are being ripped backwards and into handcuffs, her face shoved against cement. Her legs aren't moving. "Go!" She hisses again.

Jade runs past her and doesn't look back. Artemis is still frozen, and for a moment Lawrence is too. She watches her father stare at her mother through the holes in his mask for what seems like too long; before she can decipher what the look means he turns his back on his wife, charging towards her. "Run, baby girl." He hisses at her, pushing her in front of him.

She catches her weight on the side of her heel, and before she can set herself right again she hears her mother scream.

* * *

She blocks out the next few days, and even looking back it's hard to piece together fragments into a complete picture. She remembers a lot of being still. She remembers the desire to never move again, to never run again, if that means never leaving behind someone she loves.

She remembers her father drinking himself silly; remembers staring at the circles his cold glasses would leave on the coffee table. She remembers the odd moments in which he would weep over things like her mother's old blouses. She remembers making the mistake of asking why they weren't visiting Paula in prison.

She spends a lot of her time trying to avoid beatings, trying to block out the sound of Jade's screams as her father threatens her with knives. She remembers trying to sterilize the wounds and Jade glaring down the offer with the words, "Don't be stupid, I don't need help from a kid like you. Every girl for herself."

She remembers watching her sister harden and turn as lethal as Huntress had been, and remembers the day it was her turn to embark on the same journey.

Most of all she remembers one particular drunken rage; remembers her father accusing her of not doing enough, of it being her fault her mother went to prison. She remembers the blade of a javelin pressing against her spine and remembers a lot of screaming. She remembers coming to in her bed, an uncomfortable amount of bandages padding her back. She remembers watching Jade's hair shimmer one last time in the early morning light before she left for good. She remembers removing those bandages and crying as her fingers probed the knotted and uneven flesh her father left there.

She remembers Lawrence's failed attempt to harden her as well. She remembers his fury fueled by anger at Jade, anger that what was left of their broken family was no longer fulfilling a purpose. She remembers her father telling her he was striking out on his own ("Look for the rent checks, Baby Girl. I'll leave them on the table if I have anything to give") and disappearing into the night, leaving her with nothing but a haze of broken memories and a lot of time to herself.

She spends a lot of time being quiet. The next few years are filled with an internal silence so strong she wants to scream, the walls of the apartment slowly becoming blank as she takes down pictures of better, sometimes happier times. Eventually she starts reading to pass the time between when she's supposed to be at school to when she leaves the house in the dead of the night. She tries and mostly fails at making friends.

A lot of resentment builds up inside her and hardens her like the way Lawrence wanted her to be; by the time she's fifteen she feels much older and much more plagued by demons that no teenager should have. She wonders what it's like to not be alone.

The phone rings a few months after her birthday, breaking the silence. She answers. "Hello?"

"… Baby girl." Is all the voice on the other line says. Then silence.

"Is this some sort of shitty prank call?" She snorts against the receiver. She slides down the kitchen wall until she's pressed against ceramic tile.

There's more silence. "Baby girl, it's me. Mom." Artemis' heart drops, and now it's her turn to be quiet. "It's Paula, darling… Artemis? Hello?"

She hangs up in a panic.

* * *

She's waiting for her in an uncomfortable chair, her head in her hands and the smell of unnaturally sanitized surfaces filling her nostrils.

She hasn't seen her mother in years. Five years, to be exact. There were no visits, no Christmas' behind bars. Five years of separation.

She looks up at the sound of squeaking wheels. Where Paula Crock once stood she is sitting, tears running down her cheeks. "My baby." Is all she can get out.

Artemis doesn't hug her hello; she's staring at the chair with bile rising in her throat. So this why her father didn't bother; Huntress was his partner in crime until she couldn't walk. Now she's just a disabled woman with a kid and no way to make rent.

She visibly swallows but gets to her feet to meet Paula as she rolls forward. There's a moment when they both lock eyes, five years of no contact and old memories sitting between them. Her mother is looking at her like she's a pearl in an oyster, pure and touched only by the sea. "My beautiful baby." Her mother sobs, as if she's just been born again into her arms.

"Let's go home." She says, and before her mother can wipe her eyes she's bustled past her, reluctantly leading Paula to freedom.

* * *

Paula cries on and off for the next few days.

The first time is when they enter the apartment and the absence of Jade and Lawrence is so overwhelming they can physically see it being pressed into the dingy grey carpet. It takes a while to explain that Jade took off shortly after Paula went to jail and Lawrence… is Lawrence.

Not long after this she cries again while touring the apartment. Paula is a wreck when she discovers that her marital bedroom is empty and coated with dust, and even more so when she discovers Jade's old Alice in Wonderland poster still tacked to the wall as if waiting for her to come back. Strangely she doesn't cry when she discovers old family photos unceremoniously shoved into a box in the living room.

The first night they're there Artemis realizes that they have to learn to live together again. There's a love between them that runs deep, but there's no trust at all; their conversations are laced with awkward pauses and uncomfortable silences. Her mother smiles when she pours the tea and holds her hand against the cool wood of the dining table, and Artemis wishes she knew the woman beside her.

They don't sleep that first night. Artemis crosses the threshold of her mother's room and shakes out the dusty blankets, and together they start the process of sterilizing the whole apartment; they manage to wipe down most of the surfaces in the bedroom before their bodies tire despite their buzzing minds. Artemis lifts the frail body of her mother out of her wheelchair and onto her parent's old bed, and before she can stop herself or enforce the barriers she needs to survive the older woman is tugging on her wrist, inviting her to lie beside her.

Her mother strokes her hair in a way that reminds her of better times, her lips pressed in a thin line to keep them from quivering. "You have turned into a beautiful young woman, Artemis." Paula says her name with as much tenderness and faith as one would a prayer, her charcoal eyes swimming with tears. There's no trace of her old bite in her voice, as if being locked up for so long has broken part of her. "I'm sorry I missed it."

She can't think of anything to say. One of her feet has reached out to press her toes against her mother's leg, knowing full well that she won't feel it.

"You look so much like your father." Her mother continues, her thumb pressing against her temple. "I hope… I know that I did wrong and I know I deserved to go to jail. I just hope that my sentence wasn't yours as well."

Artemis thinks back on lonely days and lonelier nights and suddenly there's a bitterness in her mouth that she can't place. Before she can stop her, Paula is pressing a palm at the back of her neck and stroking the scar that she doesn't know the horrific story behind, fingers pressing against the knotted lump at the top of her spine. "Better days at coming." Her mother whispers.

Artemis wonders if it's a mistake to believe her.

* * *

Her mother goes through the box in the living room and begins extracting old photographs. In some sort of unspoken act of respect she passes over the ones that feature Jade and Lawrence, and soon the few pictures they have of just the two of them are sitting upright on bedside tables and hanging on blank walls. The apartment still feels oddly empty even though it hasn't been this full in a while.

Artemis had been expecting to have to help Paula at every turn, but the older woman is highly adjusted to life without the use of her legs; years of crime and villainy has left her old bones and muscles sculpted and strong, and a few days after her return Artemis watches her swing steadily around her chair and propel herself into bed. With a twang in her stomach she is reminded that she isn't really needed.

Paula gets a job as a cashier at the local grocery store, but this acquirement only leads to a series of terribly awkward questions; the money her father collects is for rent and food, but what about school fees? Books? Clothing? After nearly an hour of flaring tempers and distrusting looks something snaps inside Artemis and she screams at her mother—there was nobody to help her, she did what she had to do to make her own ends meet, _why can't you understand that?_ Her mother's eyes harden but she doesn't say anything, not bothering with asking for an explanation. They both slam their fair share of doors that night.

The next morning her mother lays down the law in the most ridiculous way Artemis can think of: a stern talk around the dining room table. There's talk of grades—she's passing, she thinks—and the future—"Don't bother, we can't afford college, Mom"—and a curfew—as if. The two Crock women have a verbal sparring session that almost results in actual sparring before they come to an agreement: Artemis is to work on her grades and apply for scholarships and save for a future. The curfew is weeded out of the conversation and Artemis counts her lucky stars that her mother stopped bothering by the end of it; after all, Paula couldn't stop her if she tried.

Bitterly, Artemis longs for an empty apartment again.

* * *

She's nearly asleep when she hears the hallway window crack open.

Her eyes are wide open and she's thrown the covers off herself before the footsteps in the hall sound on the dry carpet. She's been waiting for this for a while. She grabs the bow he had made for her in the corner, snapping it as quietly as she can into place. She doesn't have her quiver but she has a newly finished arrow on her desk; putting it into place between the string and her blistered finger, she marches on.

She finds him in the living room, his mask discarded and his hand clenched around one of the pictures Paula's put out. She's stared at it long enough she can recall the photo by heart: she's a newborn and Paula is perched beneath a tree in the park, neither of them looking at the camera. She's never liked that picture; there's an odd energy about it, almost as if they're game about to be shot. She flexes her fingers around her arrow, locking her joints into place.

"Don't bother with that, Baby Girl." Her father grunts, sensing her presence and placing the photo back in its place. He looks a little worse for wear, his skin bruising around his eye, some hair singed. He isn't fazed as she tenses her muscles tighter, trying to find a spot not covered with armor to strike, and ignores her in favor of digging for a cigarette in his pocket. Her nose wrinkles as he licks the tightly rolled paper and flame flickers twice before he lights it.

She watches him let out a drag of smoke before unlocking her muscles, allowing her arrow to loosen and her aim to drop to the floor. "Where were you this time?"

Another drag. "Santa Prisca. Does it matter?" He rustles around in a pocket of his suit, pulling from it a rumpled check and placing it beside the photograph on the table. "Got paid."

There's a silence between them, a silence much different than those between her and Paula; Lawrence takes another drag of his cigarette before dropping it to the floor, putting it out against the carpet with his boot. She glares. "Mom's home, you know."

"You don't say."

"Is that why you're here?"

Lawrence lets out a gruff and vaguely menacing chuckle. "I'm here to take care of you, brat." He looks her full in the face, scowling. "Look, kid. I've had a long day, some shipments I bet my life on fell through. Give your old man a break or else."

Before she can stop herself she's hissing at him, so many years of anger building up inside her and threatening to burst. "Or else? Mom's here and she needs taking care of too. She can't walk—or do you already know that? Did you plan that—"

Before she can even get into a proper stride he's on her, cutting her speech short with a quick jut to her throat, his fingers knowing her body better than her own; she can hardly put up a struggle against him, his digits striking her wrists and forcing the release of her bow. Before she can recover her breath he's pushed her to the floor, her own arrow pressed against her throat, his arm crushing her into place. "Don't talk about things you don't know anything about, kid." He raises his free fist, striking her cheek with a punch hard enough to send a message, but not hard enough to bruise. "You know, I think you're getting a little old for a baby sitter. Consider this a parting gift."

He strikes her again, this time about her throat so that he can make his escape while her body is struggling to find air. It takes a while for her to rattle through some shallows breaths, and even longer before she hears the window close. She lies still against the floor for a while, glancing up at the table the photo is on.

The check is still there.

* * *

 **AN: This is my first YJ story, a piece I've been working on since January 2015. Please read and review and let me know if you enjoyed the first chapter!**


	2. 1: Arrow and Mask

**AN: 2 chapters uploaded in the first shot, because the cardinal rule of YJ fan fiction is that nobody reviews until they're presented with blood. And a bit of Spitfire.**

* * *

She's shifting out of shadows, twisting through the rays of light the street lamps are flashing through the windows. She hates the too clean floors, hates the whiteness of the walls. Even in the dark, Gotham Academy reeks of the kind of luxury she's never known. She's not bitter, she reminds herself, passing a trophy case that's glittering in the dark.

She pauses at an unlocked locker, thinking. They still don't have much money. Even with the extra shifts Paula's been working the fact of the matter is that she still earned more stealing and working solo gigs, something that Paula's watchful eye has almost put a stop to entirely. But September is coming up and she'll need money for books soon, and before she can remind herself that Paula would be disappointed the lock slips through her fingers and she pulls the locker open with interest. Even good people need to eat and while Paula may buy food, she's hungry for something different now.

It's summer holidays and as she expected there's nothing of interest other than a few old notebooks inside. She had been hoping for a forgotten novel, maybe even an unreturned textbook. She loves books, loves them so much she can hardly stand it; she wants to read everything that she can get her hands on, a legacy of a childhood deprived of such luxuries when there were gigs to finish and people to ambush. She replaces the lock continues down the hall, the school so silent in the night that she can hear the brush of denim between her thighs.

She turns the handle of a random classroom, not knowing what she will find on the opposite end of the door; she's greeted by more darkness and the silhouette of empty desks. She supposes she's in an English classroom; she can see a collection of novels lining a bookshelf, dioramas of scenes from a play. She approaches the shelf and traces a finger down the spine of a book before shouldering off her back pack, removing it from the shelf and shoving it inside.

There's not much else of interest in the classroom, a few scattered pens on the teacher's desk and a photo frame that she flips downward, so the smiling portrait of father and child is staring at the desk and not her. Things like this still come too easily for her, the sneaking and the stealing. Maybe one day she'll forget everything her father taught her.

Her muscles tense and for a moment her brain doesn't catch the sounds her body knows so well; after half a second she registers the striking of feet against floorboards. As a child she would run from such a noise, but now she stand still, listening as the footsteps draw closer, her back straight and muscles flexed. Her fist tightens around her bow, her right arm reaching for her quiver.

The footsteps grow louder, and she can tell from the accompanying voices that there are at least 4 people, all boys judging by the voices. Probably just some teenagers breaking into a school for fun, like her. But there's something nerve-racking in the edge of their voices, and a distinct crash somewhere deeper in the school sends her heart racing. She crouches until she's behind the desk, her string taught and the arrow trained on the door.

She waits for the voices to fade while she weighs her options. She could slink off now, while whoever the footsteps belong to are distracted. She could be home to Paula in an hour, and leave whatever is happening behind her in favor of her bedroom and an evening cup of tea.

There is another crash, this one much deeper and much more sinister. _Born to run_. Her father's voice echoes for a moment in her head, her feet shifting awkwardly as she thinks. Not this time.

The desk she's hiding under has a glass cabinet, and she takes measure to check her appearance, tugging her bandana up and above her nose, lowering the hood of her sweat shirt, tucking her long blond hair down her back and picking at her appearance until the only thing identifiable about herself is her steely gaze. _Always keep your face covered_ , her father's voice sounds. She straightens the arrow in her bow, ducking out of her hiding place. This is nothing more than hunting. Nothing more than tracking prey, nothing more than firing arrows to save her own neck.

She stalks the quiet halls but has little trouble finding them; they seem to have left a mess of destruction in their wake, with scattered textbook paper and cracking walls crumbling around her. Somewhere in the back of her mind, it registers that maybe this is more than teenage boys in the dark. When she cracks open the entrance to the gym, her heart nearly falls out of her chest, her breath catching. Because she's seen these boys before, the same ones that graced the 11 o'clock news, the heroes that she silently prayed would come and haul her away from the battering hands of her father. They are here. They are fighting. And worst of all, they are failing.

For the first time in a long time, she is scared. Withdrawing from the crack in the gym door, she clutches her bow to her chest, breathing. She wishes she had just gone home to Paula.

She's kidding herself. She's a kid—a brat, a teenager who commits petty crimes. She shouldn't be here—she's not a professional—she thinks. She listens to the frantic beating of her heart, calculating. Her exit point is in the rafters above the cafeteria. She can turn if she wants and leave.

There's a sound so terrible coming from the gym now, like a wild animal that's been hurt— she knows that sound, she's made people make that sound—and it echoes in the back of her mind like a memory she can't place. It's this sound more than anything that makes her jaw clench, her resolution strong. Artemis doesn't run anymore.

She will have to stay hidden. She knows these boys, knows their affiliations—she may be a petty thief at best, but she knows the Justice League will have more than a few questions if they catch her. Most importantly, where her father is.

At this point she knows Gotham High School as well as her own, her feet guiding her as she pops open a back door and starts the climb up the back end of the bleachers. With each dull thunk of her combat boots against the metal, her own voice hums along. "Don't. Be. Seen. Don't. Be. Seen."

At the top of the stairs is a latch, a door leading to a small metal platform beside the scoreboard. She likes the vantage point, likes that she can aim between the metal bars. She presses the arrow against her bow and waits for the shot.

Everything is moving all too quickly down there; where she is the can feel her anxious breathing ticking against her ribs. She can see them all clearly now, the familiar uniforms and fighting techniques. Robin—she's fought him once— the only times of which she can remember are always marked by occasions of close failure or complete destruction altogether. Aqualad, looking odd without water present. A handsome boy she doesn't know. And the familiar streak of red and yellow—Kid Flash.

She waits for a while, aiming her shot at whatever it is that they're fighting—some sort of robot? But all too soon she gets tired of waiting. Her arms are shaking with the effort to hold steady, the constant changing of battle figures fatiguing her. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe the boys do have it under control.

She's just lowered her arrow and half turned away—she's thinking of nothing but the warmth of her bed after the long walk home—when she hears it again. That strangely animalistic cry of pain again. Her eyes find him before she truly registers what's going on and all she knows is the streak of orange hair flopping down over his mask, the straggled sound of breath leaving lungs.

Her arrow is fired before she can think, not doing much besides distracting Kid Flash's quarry and leaving an crack in the gymnasium floor. For a fraction of a moment she watches the back of his mask as he stares at her arrow, and all at once he has turned to face her.

She's thankful for the shadows, as she always is. She's certain he can't really see her; for a moment his eyes squint as if looking for something familiar in the darkness before he begins to move, fresh air flooding his lungs.

She watches for a half second before deciding to take her leave. As much as she is certain that he didn't see her, she doesn't like that his eyes still found her hiding spot so quickly. She doesn't bother sneaking down the stairs, her quiver rattling with the loss of an arrow, trusting the noise of the battle to cover her. Before she knows it she's broken into a run, her hood flying off her head and letting her long pony tail trail out behind her. She's gasping for breath, the noise of her own shaking lungs blocking out the sound of the fight behind her.

She's at the front doors when she can't take it anymore; ripping the bandana from her face she takes in a massive breath, chancing a glance behind her to make sure she isn't being followed.

She blanches slightly, catching sight of a security camera filming her naked face.

"Fuck."

She runs.

* * *

The last time she ran like this, to the full extent of her ability, her mother had been shot. She can feel the same spasms of panic flooding her muscles as she did then, the sudden strain combined with her lack of oxygen sending her joints popping and straining, fighting her as she forces her heels to collide with the pavement.

She slows down once she reaches her building; she's out of breath anyway. Her hands shaking as she fumbles to fit the key to the main door in the lock, her mind still buzzing. It's been more than an hour. An hour and nobody has come for her, an hour of being loose on the streets and nothing has happened other than blisters blossoming on her heels. Maybe nothing will happen at all…

The key fits into the lock and she begins the trek down the hallway. But there's a record of her face on file now. If there was one thing her father always warned her of, it was making sure her face was covered… She takes the stairs two at a time, anxious to get home and into the safety of her apartment.

Her toe catches on the top step and she nearly stumbles into the door-filled hallway. Everything is quiet. Maybe nothing will happen. The boys don't necessarily have League associations, anyway. Maybe her arrow got destroyed in the ensuing battle. Maybe they didn't even bother with the security footage—

She pauses outside her door, her key suspended in front of the handle. A light is on and leaking out under the door.

There's a half second where she doesn't quite process what that means, the metal of her key clashing against the door frame. Then all at once her heart stutters, sending adrenaline through her veins.

Her mother calls her name from behind the door. Before she can move, the handle turns.

* * *

"You need to work on your posture."

This is how Green Arrow greets her a few days later. The wind is cool and biting on the roof of her apartment building, but she had refused to meet him anywhere else. If she's going to be suckered into doing this, it's going to be on her terms.

She wouldn't have bothered with any of it if Paula hadn't insisted. Wheelchair or not, she's sure her mother still possesses all the cunning Huntress had; how else could she have convinced members of the Justice League to "train" her? Not that she needed any training. Her father had made sure of that.

Perhaps that's why Green Arrow's jibe about her posture bothers her as much as it does; with a jut of her hips she looks at him over her shoulder, glaring. "My posture is fine."

To her surprise Green Arrow simply smiles; not in a threatening way, but as if he finds her kind of funny. The whole thing bothers her even more. "You need to work on that temper too, young lady." He walks up to her as easily as if he's known her all her life, his arm slinging itself easily around her shoulders. She stiffens, wanting to throw off his grip. "I know, I know." He chuckles, looking down at her and grinning. "You're tough and you want everyone to know it. Now, why don't you tell me why you're here."

Her eyes narrow. "You know why I'm here." She says evenly.

Behind his mask she can see his eyebrows raise, the corner of his moustache quivering. "I know your mother can be very persuasive when she wants to be." He says this very carefully, as if not wanting to offend the absent Paula. "But that doesn't explain why you showed up."

At this point she can't stand the feeling of his arm around her any longer; with a twitch of her shoulder she steps away from him, moving closer to the edge of the building. "I'm here because she wants me to be."

"I'm not buying it." A glance over her shoulder reveals another grin beneath the moustache. She simply glares at him for a moment, trying to read the mirth in his features.

"Well… you guys asked me to be here too. Who am I to disobey the Justice League?" She says slowly, trying and failing to mimic the smooth snarl her mother used to don. Green Arrow shrugs.

"Wouldn't surprise me. I've heard your family has done it before."

As he says it her nose wrinkles, her lips subconsciously pulling back into a feral snarl. "Excuse me?" Green Arrow simply takes a few steps forward until he's beside her again, his hands in his pockets as he surveys the smoggy air unfurling on her city's horizon. For a moment she wonders how much trouble she'll be in if she pushes him off the building's edge. They stand in silence for a long time.

"… Maybe I feel like I owe somebody something." She says after a while. Green Arrow's moustache twitches again. "Sometimes I wonder if I can make up for what they've done. Or what I've done. I don't know."

In answer Green Arrow slings his arm around her shoulder again, and this time she tries not to stiffen.

* * *

The fourth time they meet Green Arrow removes his mask.

They're sitting on the top of a building, both coated in a layer of sweat and allowing the evening air to cool them. She's been restringing her bow and nearly drops it when she glances up at him, only to be met with a bare face.

"W-what are you doing?" She asks him, in her nervousness tightening her string too much; there is a loud snap.

He's much older than she expected, but still handsome; his moustache twitches upwards at her surprise, the corners of cerulean eyes crinkling into deep and affectionate crow's feet. "I'm showing you my face." He says calmly, perhaps a little entertained at her shock.

She fixes her eyes on a point in the distant horizon, refusing to look at him again. "Why?" She asks, almost accusingly.

"Because I trust you." He says kindly. She's gotten used to him now, and therefore expects the arm he throws around her; in a second she's fitted neatly in the fold of his elbow, not quite reaching his shoulder. She wishes he would hide his face again. "Listen," He begins, "There's an opportunity for you out there, Artemis— The League is putting together a team of juvenile heroes to handle low-ball missions and serve as a beta squad for more serious threats. We want you to be part of it. But that won't be possible if you can't learn to trust people."

"I do trust people." She says childishly. Green Arrow laughs.

"Do you? Then how come I don't know a single thing about you? Other than the fact that you're more than capable of using that bow in your hands."

She hesitates, wanting desperately to prove him wrong, her lips tensing. She's a private person by nature, a legacy of growing up in a world where any information could be used to manipulate or maim; beyond that, she's not sure there's much to know. She's so used to keeping things to herself that she can't pull forward any information that seems relevant. With a flash of annoyance she shrugs her shoulders until he gets the message to drop his arm.

Green Arrow chuckles. "Well, now that we've identified the problem, how about I go first? Get things flowing?" One of the things she doesn't like about him is that he always seems to be in on some joke she's yet to grow wise to; as if he's about to say a punchline that will catch her off guard. To her relief he replaces his mask. "Where to start… My name is Oliver Queen."

Something stirs in the back of her mind. "… Aren't you a billionaire or something?"

He chuckles. "Or something. Your turn."

"My name is Artemis Crock."

He makes a noise like a error buzzer, grinning down at her. "Nice try, I already knew that."

She doesn't know what else to offer him. It's been a while since anyone has shown genuine interest in her, and questions most people her age have ready on their lips she's struggling to come up with. Favorite color? She doesn't have one. Favorite food? Tea, but that isn't really a food.

She only knows the basics. Artemis Crock. Age: 15. Height: 5 foot 5. Weight: 114 lbs, all muscle. Family Relations: Don't ask. Current Location: Gotham.

Oliver sees her struggle for a moment, his arm shifting to release her, one hand still lingering on her shoulder. "Tough nut to crack, huh?" He says not unkindly. For a moment they both stare at the horizon, watching the sun disappear. When he speaks again his voice sounds very gentle, almost like he is speaking to a daughter. "I know it's hard for you." He says, his palm splayed warmly on her back. "But you're going to have to unlearn a few things; all this self-protection you've been taught won't be doing anyone any favors, especially when there are lives at stake."

She blinks, wishing she had more to say. He keeps talking, seeming to work himself into a stride. "Vulnerability isn't a weakness like you think it is, Artemis. You can't develop skills or relationships without it. I don't like seeing good kids like you get isolated because they're too afraid to put themselves out there." His hand is beginning to move in slow, comforting circles on her back, as if trying to coax something out of her, yet his voice is picking up in persistence. "I can't give a green light until I know you can do this, Artemis. Give me something, anything, so I know you won't be hindrance to The Team. What's the name of your favorite band? Tell me—"

One of his fingers slips from its circle, his thumb skidding over uneven flesh concealed by a narrow strip of cotton tee shirt. She knows he can feel it, maybe even see it through her shirt: she can tell by the way that his voice stops short, his head tilting back to examine the roughly hewn scar poking out of the top of her neckline.

She closes her eyes, not wanting to see the disgust and fear hewn onto his masked features. Instead she drops her head and allows her pony tail to bow along the side of her face, hiding herself from view. "Dad." Is all she says.

It takes him a few seconds longer than it should to recover. "… I'll make the call." He says.

* * *

She's standing around what she supposes is her new team. She can feel them sizing her up, examining the muscles she's worked on for so many years that are scarcely hidden beneath the spandex of the new uniform. "Best part of the job." Oliver had grinned at her, tossing the uniform to her a few afternoons after his appearance at her apartment. "The outfit." The introductions are finished and all of sudden, with an intensity that nearly makes her jump, there is a boy sprawled at her feet.

It takes half a second for her to place him with the absence of his mask, but she recognizes his jaw and –oh, god—that awful red hair. He's covered in freckles, more than she expected. There's a speared line of sunblock on his nose and if she wasn't trying to save face she would have laughed.

Kid Flash gets to his feet and suddenly he's berating her, and even if she wants to examine his bare chest more closely she resists, her eyes glaring out of slightly lopsided mask holes. Ducking around Red Arrow—who incidentally, she isn't too fond of either—she speaks to him directly. "Whatever, Baywatch." She sneers with a glance at his beach shorts, feeling immense pleasure at the way his ears redden. "I'm here to stay."

She can hear the conversation flowing around her, but she and Kid Flash only have eyes for each other. It's been a while since she's felt this much dislike for someone so quickly; she feels nothing but contempt for his freckles, his ginger hair, the apple green of his eyes. She looks away, her lips rolling into a straight line, wishing she hadn't bothered firing the arrow that saved his life.

She catches up with what Red Arrow is saying and somehow finds herself up to speed; despite everything, she knows the League of Shadows when she sees it. "Like you know anything about the Shadows." She hears Kid Flash mutter behind her.

It takes one look to shut him up, half a second of green on grey before he frowns, his muscled arms flying out in frustration. "Who are you?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" She sneers back.

* * *

The distorted mask slips off and for a moment her heart turns cold.

Jade.

It's been nearly five years but she can still see her—the features of a teenage girl warped by the passing of time, an assassin's lifestyle turning them gaunt and hard over the years. She shares Artemis' steely grey eyes and milky olive skin, but her hair is different than it was before; the once shining locks have turned dull and brittle. Jade's lips curl into a cunning smile, somehow more terrifying than the mask.

"Hello Baby Girl. It's been a while."

Her voice sounds the same—maybe darker, crisper—but despite her words there is no mark of recognition, not softness in her eyes. She tightens her grip on her arrow, trying not to look as shocked as she feels. "Jade."

Jade cocks a hip casually, dropping her chin so as to observe her better. "So this is what became of you. Can't say I'm surprised; although I must say I'm a little disappointed that you didn't amount to anything more than a sidekick… Dad won't be pleased..."

Her fingers tighten. "Shut up."

Jade lets out a cold laugh. "Oh dear, I see you've still got the family temper." She stops laughing as Artemis takes aim, her arrow squared directly at her heart. "Now, now, Sister. What are you planning to do? Take me in? Let your new friends interrogate me? I wonder… Is your new position secure enough to survive them learning everything I know?" A spasm of fear sounds in her stomach and it's enough to make Jade smile, her lips stretch across grossly pointed teeth smudged with lipstick. "Hmmm. I thought not. Lower your bow, Little Sister."

The command works on her as easily as it would have all those years ago; at once her arms are down and the bow string is limp. She knows she won't be able to do it. Even if it wasn't risking her position with The Team… She could never turn her back on her family. Not entirely, at least.

"Go." She whispers, staring angrily at the ground. Jade drops something behind her, coating them with fog. Before Artemis can move she feels plump lips pressing against her forehead, the familiar smell of sweet grass and stale liquor brushing against her cheeks before footsteps fade into the night.

* * *

Before she can so much as lower her arrow he's in front of her, so close now that she can feel his breath against her face as he tightens his jaw, snarling. "I'm warning you." Red Arrow's voice is low and dangerous; despite herself she can feel a warm pooling sensation in the pit of her stomach, a small dribble of excitement bubbling inside her. "…Don't hurt my friends." He says quietly.

The whole thing is dizzying and exciting; a muscle jumps in his jaw, the smooth skin of his neck stretching as he lowers his chin, glowering at her. She's young but she's seen this look on a man before; it's the kind of look her father's thugs used to send her, both an attempt at seduction and an invitation for a challenge—the kind of looks she always falls for, in her desperation to prove herself to be just as dangerous and dominant as every man who has crossed her path seems to be entitled to be.

But Red Arrow is trying too hard to be intimidating, with his mused hair and narrowed eyes that dart around too much behind the mask to really be much of a threat—not to her, at least. She's been through this kind of act before and at this point the game is getting a little tiresome; he's got her cornered in a deserted back alley, trying to stand tall but not _quite_ wanting to touch her, being careful to respect boundaries and not cross the two inch threshold between them. He's older than her, much older, but all she can think is that he has a lot to learn.

He lets out a long exhale through his nose that ruffles the hair around her face, and another rush of warmth floods her stomach. She can't resist the invitation to mess with him.

He's becoming uncomfortable now, the jumping muscle settling from his jaw. He's leaning over her, trying to get her to take a step back, to wince, anything to help him leave this conversation feeling like more of a man. Before he can get any ideas she straightens herself up to her full height, her breasts thrust out and almost skimming against his chest. "I don't need a warning, _Speedy_." She hisses his old name at him, her voice so malicious and so mocking that she swears she can see his cheeks redden. "And in case you haven't noticed, they're my friends too."

For a moment they simply glare at each other, her neck beginning to strain with the effort of looking up. Then at once he snorts, knocking past her. "We'll see about that."

She keeps her back straight and watches him over her shoulder until he's out of sight.

* * *

 **AN: This whole story originally began as just a series of one shots revolving around interesting moments with Artemis in season 1, but the more I wrote the more I fell in love with her character. Please read and review!**


	3. 2: The Last Few Pages

**AN: Such a great response to the last few chapters, wow! Enjoy!**

* * *

She's reaching for the topmost cabinet in the kitchen when she feels breath in her left ear.

She turns around so quickly the muscles in her neck cramp, her hand already pressed against her quiver of arrows. She almost collapses against the kitchen counters when she realizes it's just M'gann.

"Sorry!" The Martian coos at her, smiling apologetically at the startled expression on her face.

Her breath is still coming out short, the hand pressing against her arrows moving to lay a little pathetically against the rapid rising and falling of her breasts, almost as if to hide them. "It's fine." She gasps out. "… Do you need something?"

Oddly, the green skin of M'gann's cheeks flushes pink. "I, um, wanted to ask you something." For a moment she simply presses her finger tips together, biting her lower lips and staring at her, as if waiting for her to say something. A quirk of annoyance flares in the back of her mind.

"… Well?"

Another flush of pink. "Do you—do you mind if I braid your hair?" The question is so completely far off from what she was expecting that her mouth nearly quirks open, her bemusement clearly showing on her face and sending M'gann pinker still, prompting another explanation. "I'm sorry! I'm trying to learn from magazines and they all say that it helps to practice on another person and—Hello Megan! You probably don't want someone you don't really know touching your hair—"

She listens to M'gann ramble for a moment, the memory of green hands winding around hers a few nights ago coming to the front of her mind. Her father would tell her it was a trap, would tell her than M'gann is a threat, but instinct is telling her the opposite—the Martian is harmless. A little naive, a little innocent, still rambling about hair products and sounding like the pet parakeet her sister once stole from the neighbors down the hall that sang loudly and beautifully until her father silenced it. She drops her jaw slightly, surveying the other girl through her mask. M'gann had called her a sister.

"Fine." She sighs when the other girl takes a breath, trying to sound as if the whole thing is a pain in the ass rather than some much welcome girl-time. She pulls her cowl down to better cover her eyes, making sure the back of the mask is tight over the scarred part of her neck.

It's worth it to hear M'gann's squeal, even if a few hours later her hair is tangled.

* * *

She finds, in the next few days, that she prefers the quiet of the cave to the quiet at home.

Not that there is ever true quiet at the cave. But it's different. Different to hear the breathing of other people, to hear the low hum of the television through the walls and the snatches of conversations as she passed by door frames. Different from the eerie quiet of her apartment, with the squeaking of her mother's wheelchair jarring her out of drowsiness in the early hours of the morning.

She's reading now, at the island in the kitchen. Artemis likes to mark up her books, likes to crack the spine and fold down the corners of her favorite pages. When she reads she immerses herself in the story, so completely and unforgivably she can almost forget the life she has lived. Forget what she has done in the sake of family. She turns her page and glances up as Wally wanders in, pajama clad. She supposes she should get to bed, but she's always been the kind of person who only needs a few hours of sleep to keep going. She doesn't like to rest for too long.

He's still bleary eyed from sleep, fingers coming up to rub at the freckles on his face. Somewhere in the back of her mind she pulls herself into a moment a few days ago, with the feeling of his chest pressed against hers and those freckles all too close and Jade, Jade, Jade behind them, concealed behind a mask.

He ignores her completely, an arm coming up to scratch at his stomach, tugging the shirt he's wearing above the waist of his sweats. Even his pajamas are a loud red and yellow, clashing horribly with his hair. He opens the fridge door, bending to examine its contents.

It's the first time she's been out in the open without her mask on, she realizes. She gave it up as a bad job a few hours ago, her costume now rumpled in a corner of her bedroom here. She has half a mind to lift the collar of her shirt above her nose and hide herself from him. Against her better judgment she holds her ground, wondering if he'll notice.

She lowers her gaze back to the page as he straightens, shutting the fridge with a snap and moving to rattle a drawer open in search of a fork. He's eating someone's left over Chinese food and looking about as stupid as he usually does, except with a line of grease covering his chin. "What's the matter, Kid Idiot?" She sneers, glancing up from her book. She does enjoy teasing Wally. "Bad dream?"

He has his mouth full, his eyes still on the takeout container as he scraps the fork against the bottom. "I was hungry. What's your excuse, Blondie?" He jerks his head up to send her the sarcastic smile he usually does and its then that he sees her bare face.

The fact that his eyes go slightly round and his mouth practically stops chewing all together sends a slightly uncomfortable jolt into her stomach; she's suddenly regretting not escaping into her bedroom when she had the chance. As usual she's darted ahead without thinking about the consequences—now he can pick her out of a line, spot her in a crowd, she's basically given him liberty to stop her on the street and _talk_ to her, goddamn it.

The feeling of being looked at—really looked at—strikes her, and even though it's making her nervous she stands her ground, trying to maintain the baiting smirk on her face. She can see his eyes moving around her face, taking in the arc of her eyebrows and the curve of her cheekbones. "Sleep is for the weak." She tries to say sharply, wincing slightly as her voice cracks.

The moment is gone and his eyes are back in his container, snorting slightly. "The bags under your eyes may disagree."

She's a little offended that he chose that moment to berate her looks. Slipping off the stool, she saunters past him, nudging the container in his arms just enough to send the contents splattering all over his shirt in a greasy, disgusting mess. "Whatever, Kid Chow Mein."

* * *

After the incident with Wally she stops wearing her mask around The Cave altogether. The first time she does, she's met with a few double takes (and in M'gann's case, the slightly startled omission, "You're actually pretty, Artemis!") But now The Cave feels more like home, and on that note she starts visiting on a more regular basis.

She finds she likes being with M'gann best, but in a strange and lonely sort of way; half the time she spends with the Martian feels almost melancholy, as if somewhere Jade is aware that she has been replaced in a way that not even the happiest memories can make up for. She tries not to think about it too much and spends most afternoons after school with M'gann's hands in her hair. Mercifully, the Martian is getting better at braiding.

That morning M'gann gets ridiculously close to her as they're leaning against the roughly hewn walls of the training room, watching the boys spar. Her breath is so near to Artemis' ear that she jumps like she did a few weeks ago in the kitchen, nearly missing the words muttered against her cheek. "You know who would make a cute couple? You and Wally."

She's horrified at the thought, so much so that it echoes around her head all day, distracting her from their mission and the trials of Doctor Fate; because no, _absolutely not._

She knows her taste well enough at this point: she's likes a challenge. She likes her men tough and rugged with walls that need to be bashed through, not much unlike herself. She likes to be one step ahead, like to watch them fall for her and then try to catch themselves when she disappears on them. She's Artemis. She doesn't do "together" and "couples." She does moments, wild moments that leave everyone involved gasping for air and reminiscing on a weekend evening or a half second after class. Wally is not what she needs; besides, even with super speed he couldn't keep up with her.

And yet she catches herself leaning against his doorway, the leather of her jacket pressing against her arms as she watches him. Her bones are bruised and her muscles are weary and she wants nothing more than to lie down in her bedroom for a few moments before she takes the Zeta tubes home, and yet here she is. Watching as he nitpicks at the Helmet of Fate's position on the shelf, adjusting it so the lights of his bedroom reflect perfectly off the gold.

She supposes he's not bad looking, although completely not what she likes. She likes hard muscles, scars, older and tougher skin. Wally has the air of someone who's grown a lot in a short period of time, like all boys her age do. He's wiry and gangly and so disgustingly boyish; his ginger hair is permanently ruffled, as if going so fast has made it grow that way, and every inch of skin she can see is freckled. Completely harmless and _completely not her type_.

She clears her throat to pull both of them out of their respective reveries, smirking at him as he turns to face her. "You never said what happened to you when you put on the helmet." She says it innocently enough, but narrows her eyes with a challenge. _I dare you to talk your way out of this one._

He spits some science crap in her face and she can feel her eyes slipping from simply being narrowed to full out glaring at his ignorance, an insult ready on her tongue. "You're still claiming there's no such thing as magic?" She scoffs. "Why keep it at all then?" She can tell what he's going to say before he says it, and has already turned on her heel before he can finish saying "Souvenir."

She doesn't know what M'gann was thinking. Wally isn't her type. "Geek!" She says despite herself.

* * *

She's still mulling over the ridiculousness of the claim an hour later, preparing to leave for home. She's repacking her backpack, wondering what to take with her. Her bedroom here is starting to feel more familiar; not just a room with a bed and a desk and the faint air of _temporary_. She's stuck a calendar on the wall and has started keeping books here, has even gone so far as to fill a few of the drawers in the dresser with some clothes.

She's fussing between books now. She only has a few chapters left in her current one, and she's debating bringing another home with her. She has a lot of homework, but she knows she'll probably forgo doing a few practice questions in favor of reading. And although she has read the second book a few times before (she can see the folds made in the pages from the last time she took it out of the library) she does really like it, but is due back soon, so she really… There's a knock on her door and she grunts in acknowledgement, biting her lip in debate. She hears the door slide open.

"Hey, you sticking around much longer Blondie? Superboy and I are considering a pizza run. You wanna chip in?"

She straightens her spine immediately, glaring over her shoulder at Wally as he stretches his arms above his head, his elbows brushing the doorframe and the bottom of his shirt riding up so far she can almost see the bare plane of his stomach. Ugh, what was M'gann thinking? "No thanks, Baywatch. I have better things to do."

She doesn't like him being in her room; doesn't like him looking at the few personal belongings she has here, as if his gaze will taint them and make them less special. She unceremoniously shoves the almost finished novel in her backpack, zipping it up quickly. She can hear him scoff. "Whatever, Ice Queen. Just trying to be friendly."

She grabs the second novel off her bed as an afterthought, rushing to leave before he can take in too much of her quarters. "I don't need friends like you." She snaps.

She's almost shouldered around him when he catches sight of the book in her hand; reaching out faster than she can react he's got the novel in his hands, staring at it in mild disgust. "God Artemis, what have you done to this thing?"

She frowns slightly. She supposes the book is a little tattered around the edges, with maybe an unidentifiable stain here or there. But it's not all her doing—sure, she likes her books to look loved, but at least half the blame belongs to the library itself. She sighs as he fingers through it, fixing all the folds she had made to mark interesting passages. "Give it, Idiot."

He continues to look horrified, his thumb catching in a sticky spot on one of the pages. "Why? You can't possibly read this. Or are you really so much of a slob that it doesn't bother you?"

She can't afford to waste any more time; Paula is expecting her home soon and it's a 20 minute walk from the zeta tubes, and that's without running into any of the unsavory types that litter Gotham streets this time of night. Shouldering him roughly so his feet meet the break in the carpet, she slides the door shut behind them. "Fine, take it Baywatch. I don't have time for this."

She storms towards the Zeta Tubes, fuming at the sound of his flipping through the messy pages of the book behind her. She makes a mental note to grab it before it's due, hoping to God that Wally in his _infinite wisdom_ doesn't lose it.

* * *

The next day she looks up from her book as Superboy enters the room, fingering the last few pages of her novel. She over estimated herself last night, forgetting that a project for her History class would stop her from pursuing as much as she wanted to. Regardless of the lost time, she only has a few more chapters before she's finished.

She watches him without raising her head, feeling ridiculously like a wild cat stalking her prey as he sits stiffly on this couch, clicking through the channels of the television until he finds the perfect amount of static.

He's handsome. She had wondered if her first few judgements had been marred by adrenaline and the haze of battle, but even in the stillness of The Cave he's a beautiful specimen: sleek onyx hair, a strong jaw and skin stretched tightly over bulging muscles. _Very_ handsome.

She wants him.

She's not sure if it's different than the way she's wanted all the others—heaven knows she likes a good challenge. She's used to dropping boys the way her family dropped her, reeling them in and hanging them out to dry before things get too serious, a few heated kisses but never anything enough to cry over losing—no broken hearts, no lost virginity. Nothing lost and nothing gained.

She blinks a few times, pulling the boy into focus again. It's a horrible way to think of love and she knows it. But somewhere in the smallest part of her she suspects they have a lot in common, at least from what M'gann has told her: emotional blockage, difficult relationship with their parents.

He catches her eye across the room, the television spitting white noise between them. "What?" He asks.

She closes her book with a snap. "Nothing…" She hesitates slightly. "Do you want a cup of tea?"

"Tea?" He looks at her a little quizzically as she gets to her feet.

"Yeah, tea." She says evenly, already moving to set the kettle on the stove. He doesn't turn to look back at her and simply stares straight ahead.

Tea has an odd sort of symbolism to her; she can remember waiting up for her parents and Jade to return from gigs, can remember fixing it for them and waiting patiently for them to drink their fill and tell her what happened, recount their daring feats and maybe give her a little affection. Tea means talking, tea means getting to know each other, it mean quiet and stillness and intimacy…

The kettle boils and she pours the warm water over the tea leaves, thinking as she stares at the counter. She can hear M'gann enter the room, hear the fuzz of the white noise from the television. Maybe she's getting too old for her usual games. Maybe it's time she should try a real relationship, something beyond the fun of the chase. Maybe they'll get to know each other, really like each other—

She opens her mouth, on the verge of inviting him out with her this weekend, but quickly clenches her jaw tight when she's met simply with an empty couch: Superboy and M'gann are gone. She pours the extra cup of tea down the sink.

* * *

She can hear her mother's chair squeaking as she wheels across the room, the paper she's just tossed over her shoulder being smoothed against the coffee table. "Gotham Academy is one of the best schools in the state." She says quietly, the sounds of crumpling paper abruptly stopping. "I don't think you should dismiss it so quickly."

At this Artemis snorts, shutting one eye so as to better see the point of her arrow, checking for balance. "I don't care, Mom. All my friends are at Gotham North—besides, it's almost September and I already have my textbooks and everything." She places the arrow in her quiver, already reaching for another one to examine.

"I don't care." Her mother's voice is adopting the smooth, dangerous tone, not quite like the old Huntress bite but somehow lower and dangerous. "This is the kind of opportunity you don't pass up."

"It's not happening."

There's a bang, the sound of a muscled fist colliding with the metal armrest of Paula's chair. Unwillingly her back straightens and her crouch tightens, leaving her feeling oddly like a wild animal that's been cornered. "Don't test me, Artemis. I'll cut your _extra-curricular activities._ "

There's an odd amount of venom injected into the last three words, and with a sigh that sounds more like a hiss Artemis gets to her feet, as if to impose a physical reminder of what she's capable of. "Don't make threats you can't enforce, Mom." She says, mimicking her mother's dangerous tone.

For one moment they look at each other, and Artemis half hopes her mother will challenge her; that would be something, watching two Crock women fight. Both of their jaws are lowered and they're glowering at each other, the air practically crackling between them.

Something break on her mother's face, and she does the last thing Artemis expects; before she can so much as blink there are tears running hot and fast down Paula's cheeks, any sense of challenge erasing itself from her features. "And why do you think I can't enforce them?" She spits out, beginning to sob. "Why do you think I got tangled up with your father in the first place? Don't you get it? This is a chance I never had, Artemis—take it!"

She feels suddenly ridiculous for baiting the woman in front of her, feels stupid for even questioning her in the first place. The time when they could settle something with their fists is gone; now she has to learn to trust the woman sitting beside her, has to accept that there are rules she must follow simply because they are in place. With a sigh she gets to her knees, pulling Paula's matted hair into the crook of her shoulder. "Of course I will, Mom. I'll do it for you."

* * *

Artemis doesn't open her eyes immediately, instead squeezing her lids tighter and blocking out the bright rays of sun leaking between them. Her tongue is dry against the roof of her mouth.

She registers almost hazily that she's not at home in her bed. Wherever she is doesn't smell like stale cigarettes the way home does; the air is dry and dusty, coating her skin and sticking to sweat. Unconsciously her muscles begin to tremor to life; there's something hard poking her in the back, and somewhere in the distance she can hear the sound of wind on open plain. Something is scuttling on the ground nearby, almost like a mouse pawing against old floorboards.

She twitches her legs, trying to awaken the muscles that feel as if they've been still for too long, her eyes still clenched shut to avoid the intrusive light. She's trying to remember where she is, why she's not in her bed… And for once in her life she comes up blank. She can recall writing a paper for English, signing her name in the top right corner in cursive, the pen bubbling ink and smudging along her "m," and… Nothing. No hint as to why she's somewhere where she most likely shouldn't be.

She hears the scuttling noise again, can feel the warmth of another person hovering over her. "Hey." A voice murmurs, and her eyes open as a gloved palm cups her face. She blinks a few times more than strictly necessary, her eyelids cracking as she pulls someone into focus. "Hey Beautiful, wake up." The voice is soft and gentle but the hand against her face grows surer, turning her head further into sunlight. Her pupils dilate.

The first thing she makes out is red hair and a pair of goggles, reflecting her own stunned face back at her. There's a man leaning over her—no, a teenage boy. He's bracing his weight on one palm beside her head, one of his legs pressed between her thighs. She blinks a few more times, her brain still struggling to keep pace with the sudden turn of events—she's thirsty, _so goddamn thirsty_. She counts eleven freckles on his nose.

She blinks again, some of her bleariness fading as instinct kicks in. She doesn't know who this boy is; doesn't know why he's touching her the way he is, one of his fingers straying and catching slightly on the curve of her lower lip. She doesn't like the fact that they're alone and that she can feel his weight shift slightly on top of her, the muscle of his thigh fitting neatly between hers. In an instant she can feel her blood beginning to boil to the surface, and with little thought for anything else she lets the sudden rush of adrenaline guide her; with a guttural sound in the back of her throat she sends her knee colliding with his ribs and forces him backwards.

She hears him gasp at the blow to his diaphragm and chances a look around; they're in some sort of shack, and the thing that had been pressing against her back is a half-empty quiver of arrows. She can see her bow lying a few feet away; grabbing it, she twists it sharply in her wrist until it's fully snapped into position, an arrow placed on its string and aimed at the boy's throat all before he can get to his feet. She's been drugged, she's been kidnapped, she's going to _kill_ this boy for thinking he can—

"Hold on," He wheezes, struggling to straighten, his hands held up as if to surrender. "Hold on, I'm Kid Flash. One of the good guys." He winces and goes back to clutching at his ribs, one of his fingers pressing against a firm line of muscle hidden beneath a spandex suit.

Her eyes narrow, her fingers flexing and tightening the string of her bow against the corner of her mouth. "I've seen Kid Flash on the news. He doesn't wear black." She's adopting the same low and dangerous voice Huntress once used, a warning sign that she's afraid and unsure and willing to do anything to stay alive.

The boy finally manages to get his bearings together, standing up straight in front of her; he's slightly bigger than her, but not enough to pose very much of a threat; he can't be more than 15, maybe 16 at most. "I'm a little confused about that myself." He chuckles, offering her a rather roguish smile. Together they glance down at his torso, black kevlar framing the outline of surprisingly hard pectorals, contoured abs and thickly woven thighs. She's not inclined to believe a word he says, but she can't deny what she sees: there's the lightening symbol on his chest, which only begs the question—why is she stuck in a shack with Kid Flash of all people?

He places his hands on his hips, his thumbs pressing against the line of muscle that leads between his legs. He's starting to mutter to himself and she wishes he would be quiet; she's dropped her chin slightly, listening intently to see if she can hear any other sign of life around them.

Her head snaps back towards him when she senses movement; her eyes narrowing as he rocks backwards and forwards on his heels, taking a half step towards her. Instantly she becomes almost feral, adjusting her posture and baring her teeth, as if she were a dog threatening to rip his throat out. He doesn't seem intimidated, neither by her expression or the weapon she's still pointing at him. "What about you?" She watches his eyes rake her figure, and her grip tightens against the waiting arrow. "Green Arrow affixation?"

She follows his gaze to her breasts, mildly horrified to see that she's clad in a spandex outfit similar to his, a shocking green arrow following the contours of her curves. "Who put me in this?" She snarls. She has half a mind to rip the costume from herself, a thought that quickly diminishes when she senses him advancing on her again; he's now only a few feet away.

"So." Another small step closer. "Do you know how to use that bow?" He asks almost conversationally.

She glares at him. "Yes. My Dad—" She stops herself short, nearly snarling at herself for her stupidity. Her aim falls from his throat to the floor, anger flooding through her. "Dad. He must have done this. Another one of his stupid tests."

She wants to beat her fists against the wall, destroy the shack they're stranded in. She hates it, hates when he pops up uninvited with another challenge, hates never knowing when she'll finally be good enough for him. So this is it; his idea of a test to see if the months he's been absent have turned her soft, to see if she's still ready to get blood on her hands. He probably kidnapped Kid Flash and drugged them both while he sits watching from another location, waiting to see if she'll have the guts to carve out the innocent again.

"What kind of stupid test?

She's a little disgusted by how easily the words roll off her lips, especially in the face of the look he's giving her: like he's concerned, wants to help. "He probably wants me to kill you." She says with a blank face. She ignores the way his eyes widen, his mask wrinkling around raised brows, and readies her bow once more.

She's just pulled the string taught again when it occurs to her that something is off. Why would Sportsmaster go to the trouble of erasing their memories? Is it even possible for him to do that? Wouldn't it have been more difficult to have them both at their best before the battle? She can taste the string at the corner of her mouth, the indentations along it catching on the flaking skin of her chapped lips… She's been out here a while. Long enough to be dehydrated…

There's a noise like a jet flying close overhead, so loud and intrusive that her arrow wobbles, falling from her hands and clattering against the ground. In an instant she can feel hands around her wrist, the heels of her boots catching on uneven floor boards before unknown sand and sky burst in front of her eyes as the desert blooms out in front of them.

* * *

She squints, adjusting her aim. She can down a jet. No problem.

In the half-second before she can fire she feels hands winding themselves around her waist, tucking her knees into her chest; her muscles release but her arrow loses its course, and before she can even watch in disappointment she's already a mile away.

"Sorry." Kid Flash mumbles against her forehead, his goggles reflecting back her glare. "They have bigger arrows."

"Fair point." She mutters back, blinking as sand flies into her face. Without looking at her or jostling her in the slightest he reaches up to cup the side of her face, turning her head until her lips are pressing against his clavicle and her eyes are hidden from the dust storm whirling around them.

"So, uh." He doesn't seem to be bothered by the wind like she is. "Can we get back to that part about your dad wanting to kill me?"

Her cheeks redden.

* * *

She supposes he means to come to a dramatic stop after their escape from the feral man that attacked them, but in reality the movement is more of a tumble; in an instant he's lost his footing in the sand and she's sent flying from his arms, rolling and inhaling the dust that's still swirling around him. She's left coughing and wheezing a few feet away from him and for a moment she simply closes her eyes, wishing the jet would come back and fry them both. She's tired of wandering the desert.

Her eyes snap open when she feels his palm against her face, gentling tapping her temple. He's grinning down at her, thankfully not in between her thighs again. "Sorry about that, beautiful. Now, back to your Dad—"

She jumps back from him, twisting her wrist and snapping her bow back into place. Kid Flash's eyes widen beneath his mask, but he's perfectly still, his bent knees sinking into the sand, one hand still hovering where her face was a second ago. She lets out a ragged breath, sending a piece of hair that's fallen over her mask fluttering as she readies another arrow. "Stop. Doing. That." She says as evenly as she can, some phlegm in the back of her throat catching on her words.

There's a half second where he's perfectly still, watching her nervously. Then he cracks an infuriating grin, as if hoping his cheerfulness will stop her from attacking. "Stop doing what, specifically? Calling you beautiful? Talking about your Dad? Being incredibly charming?"

She considers him, pulling her arrow until the muscles in her back are taught. "… All three."

He keeps grinning, not the least bit troubled by the fact that she's now adjusting her aim to hit the sweet spot on his jugular. "Sorry, beautiful. No can do on that first one. I can't deny the obvious."

Her cheeks are going off again and more to force him into silence she lets her arrow fly; there's a swirl of dust and she watches as the tip sinks into the sand. She's not surprised; she's seen his speed before and knows she won't have a chance in hell with her arrows. She's more hoping her quarry will take the hint and get lost before she's forced to fulfill the mission she's been placed out here to complete.

The dust trail he left hasn't even disappeared when she senses him behind her; in an instant she's got another arrow pulled taught and pointing at him. "So you do know how to use that bow." He says cheekily, walking towards her with his hands folded leisurely behind his neck. "Beautiful and talented."

She loses it slightly when he winks at her, even more so when her cheeks respond with another flush of red; compressing her bow and tossing it aside she lunges at him, her annoyance only increasing when he steps easily around her. "Stop it!" She hisses, twisting her calve and forcing herself to turn back towards him, her lips pulling back to bare her teeth.

"I'm not doing anything!" He retorts, dodging her again. "You're the one trying to pick a fight in the middle of nowhere, Babe."

He makes the mistake of moving behind her again, as if to grab her about the waist and hold her still or disarm her of her remaining arrows; she's watched him enough times on television to recognize his fighting style when she sees it. She can sense where his hands are going to be before she can see them, and with a swift movement she's braced her knuckles around his elbows, sliding up the length of his arms and hooking herself around his shoulders; shifting her core she pulls him over her head, her muscles straining and popping as she pulls him downward, not stopping until he's winded and at her feet.

There's a bit of a struggle as she positions herself on top of him, her thighs stretching over his abdomen and pinning his arms to his sides underneath her. She can feel his legs thrashing behind her, the toe of one of his feet bumping against her quiver. Finally, he's beginning to look properly intimidated; his cheeks are flushed red and she can hear his breath coming out in slightly panicked pants. She squeezes him tighter, one of her hands reaching forward to latch onto his throat. With a sense of anticipation that reminds her of finally swatting a fly, she reaches to her quiver for an arrow. _She just wants to go home._

She's never much liked this part of her father's tests; she doesn't like watching the fear in people's eyes as they realize they're about to die, doesn't like having to decide what part of their body she should dig an arrow into. An easy shot would be his throat—he's already having trouble breathing as it is. Maybe it's kinder to finish this quickly so she can be home and in bed—but he has been unusually annoying. Her father would argue that he deserves a little pain... The eyes are another good target. Considering this, she reaches upwards and pulls back his mask, removing the kevlar and his goggles in one smooth motion.

She has enough time to see the arc of his cheek bones and take in the apple green of his eyes before something erupts in front of her vision; there's a pain so crisp and sharp in the front of her skull that it makes her cry out, her muscles slaking and her arrow falling. The boy beneath her throws her off of him, sending her crashing into the sand beside him.

She's aware that she's still screaming and forces herself into silence, her muscles twitching violently and sand gritting against her teeth. She can hear Kid Flash wheezing beside her, his throat struggling to decompress and send air into his lungs.

She's suddenly too exhausted to move, her skull still pounding, and doesn't object when after a few seconds he grabs her by the shoulder and rolls her towards him, his hands closing over her wrists and keeping her from coming after him again. For a moment they both lie there beside each other, each of them breathing heavily and blinking at odd times, trying to get a grip. She can't explain her hesitation, can hardly do more than feel her muscles twitching against her will, her whole being feeling raw and undone. He tightens his grip on her wrists, pressing the tendons painfully together, and it's all she can do to blink back her tears—the pain she felt is still echoing in her body, a repeated reminder that something isn't right.

His mask still half up, pooling in wrinkles of fabric on his forehead. "Not that I'm complaining," His voice is slightly hoarse, but he doesn't look nearly as afraid of her as he should be; he seems to know she's not capable of doing much else now other than lie beside him and struggle to control her breathing. "But why aren't I dead?"

She swallows the sand that's sticking to her teeth, still panting. "I-I don't know. Something happened—I think I know you." The words fall past her lips before she can stop them, her own surprise at saying them being echoed on his face. He's suddenly not holding her wrists as tightly as he should and she jerks out of his grasp, propping herself up on her elbow and looking down at him. "When I pulled up your mask…" She's sounding a little breathless and a lot like an idiot; sitting up, she doesn't wait for an invitation before reaching downward, pulling at the wrinkled fabric on his forehead. He looks a little skeptical and still slightly wary of her, but nonetheless allows her to tug it back, wincing slightly as the fabric catches on his hair. There he is. Kid Flash, consisting of freckles and green eyes and red, red hair, blinking up at her expectantly.

There's no pain in her skull now, nothing telling her something is wrong or to stop. The side of his face catches and he's grinning a little lopsidedly at her, his eyes switching rapidly between hers as he sits up too. "Enjoying the view?" He says slyly but there's a bit of hesitation in his voice now, as if he's unsure is she's a threat or not still. "Is something supposed to happen?"

She glances away. "… I don't know. I don't… I don't remember anything." There's a short but slightly awkward pause in which she can feel the point of her discarded arrow digging into her little finger. More to avoid the moment in which she'll have to pick it back up and get on with it, she looks back at him, dropping her chin and watching as he pulls his mask back over his eyes. "What about you? … Do you remember anything? Do you remember me?"

The eyeholes of his mask are sitting a little crookedly on his face. "… I remember waking up beside the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

She rolls her eyes, but her cheeks still go red. "I'm about two seconds away from killing you, Flash Boy. The least you can do is stop trying to get a date."

The threat is half-empty and it's very obvious; he seems to take this as a promising sign and leans slightly towards her, placing his hand beside hers and blocking her immediate access to the arrow that should already be in his eye socket. "I'm just answering your questions, Beautiful. Now how about you take off that mask and we'll find out."

She can feel her muscles tensing, can hear her father's voice sounding in her head: _Always keep your face covered_. If this really is one of his tests, really is something he's staged, she's sure to fail and failure means… She can feel her eyes narrow, watching his mask fidget as he waggles his brows at her, grinning flirtatiously at her. When he speaks his voice is lower, much more attractive than it should be. "Come on, Beautiful. I showed you mine."

He doesn't notice her hand moving ever so slightly in the sand, moving around his wrist and curling closer to her discarded arrow. If anything happens…

"…Fine." There's a half second where they're simply looking at each other, or in her case, glaring. Then he boldly leans forward, plucking the fabric from her face and pulling backwards. She closes her eyes, holding her breath as the mask peels away from her sweat soaked skin, his gloved hands brushing against her eyelashes. She opens her eyes too quickly, not quite trusting him when she can't see him.

She watches his face as he looks at her. There's no sign of pain, nor of recognition; just green eyes locked for a moment on her grey ones. He's gripping the mask at the back of her head, holding it flush against her hair and half pulling her closer. She can feel one of his gloved fingers running down the length of her temple, stopping to press against the hollow of her cheek. She blinks, half expecting her father's voice to sound out around them, to signal that she's failed and his test is over. Instead the world around them remains quiet, and it occurs to her that they really are just two kids lost and alone in the desert.

"Anything?" She asks, a little surprised to hear how nervous she sounds.

The boy beside her bites his lip, and her stomach somehow works itself into a knot. "Well, I was right." He says, dropping his hand from her cheek. Her mask springs forward and crumples against the top of her head.

"About what?"

He winks, leaning backwards until he's pressing the heels of his palms into the sand. "You really are beautiful."

She actually snorts. "You're an idiot." Kid Flash is still grinning at her, watching as she tugs the fabric back down over her forehead. Well, she's sure of one thing now: her father may be a cruel man, but he didn't put his youngest daughter in the middle of the desert with someone as annoying as The Flash's protégée. It's somewhat comforting to know she can rule out the potential for homicide, but it still does very little in terms of solving the reasoning behind her current location and company.

She reaches for her discarded arrow and for a fraction of a moment his smile falters, only to stretch wider as she avoids his eye and places it carefully back in her quiver. "So now what?" He asks, watching her get to her feet and walk back the few paces to where she flung aside her bow. He's sprawled out on the sand like they're having a beach day, his legs stretched out and toes bending rapidly back and forth. She wonders if it bothers him, being still.

She bends, pawing at the sand and retrieving her weapon, shaking it slightly to remove dust before clipping it to her belt. "What do you mean, 'now what'?"

"Well…" There's an unnatural breeze and dust is whirling around her so thickly she has to refrain from coughing, Kid Flash suddenly in front of her and gripping her about the elbows. "Come on. Two kids, lost in the desert. Pretty romantic, don't you think?"

He gives her a little tug closer, his eyebrows raising as she colors. It takes nearly all her self-control not to attempt another arrow at his eye socket and settle for simply ripping her arms from his grasp. "I don't see much of a point in sticking around if I'm not under any obligations to _dispose_ of you." She scoffs, brushing past him and heading in a random direction.

She doesn't get far before he's back beside her, matching her pace easily. "You have to admit Beautiful, we made a really good team back there. You sure you want to face feral boy alone?"

"I can take care of myself." She says evenly.

He over steps her, forcing her to stop in order to avoid knocking into him. "Yeah, but how do you know I can take care of myself? I mean, you almost killed me once. Do you really want to send me on my way only to have me be killed by someone else? Kind of a waste of your time, the whole sparing my life thing, really—"

She can feel the smile fighting to escape her lips and forces her eyes to narrow. "Are you suggesting that I kill you now instead?"

His smile widens. "Or, you know. Let me live long enough to get us both out of here."

 _Not too bad of an offer, really._

Breaking eye contact, she glances around and considers her options. It's just the two of them surrounded by mountains of sand. "Alright, Kid." She turns back to him. "Which way are you thinking?"

* * *

 **AN: In case you can't tell Bereft was my favorite episode... Read and Review, Please!**


	4. 3: Trust

**AN: Thank you to everyone who reviewed! It makes it a lot easier to sit down and upload when I know there are a few people out there who really love where this is going. I would like to send a shout out to theelephantintheroom who wanted to see some more interaction between Artemis and the other members of the Team: Don't worry! This is just the beginning!**

* * *

She's leaning over Kaldur sometime later, watching anxiously as he gulps down water. She can hear the quiet murmur of voices in the main cabin of The Bioship from where they are now, with the Atlantean lying on a makeshift cot beside the entrance to the engine room. They've been out of the sun for a few hours now, yet he's still showing signs of dehydration: his skin, usually almost pearly in the light, is cracking in a few places and his lips are so dry that layer after layer of fresh skin is peeling and sticking to the rim of the glass of water he's drinking. She presses a water soaked cloth against a particularly red patch around his gills, her stomach squirming slightly as a few loose pieces of scaly flesh catch on the fabric and come right off. Kaldur lets out a groan that seems to reside somewhere in the back of his throat.

"You do not have to do this, Artemis." A bit of the authority is coming back to his voice, but he still sounds a little faint. "I am capable of providing my own ministrations."

He tries to sit upright on the cot, one of her hands catching him and pressing against the middle of his chest. "Quiet, Kaldur." She says kindly, not moving her hand until he sends her a slightly affectionate look, the muscles of his abdomen smoothing as he settles.

She refolds the cloth until she's sure there's a fresh side to offer, aware that he's watching her. Kaldur is better at reading her than most people—even M'gann, with her unnatural senses, can't quite unmask her like he can. She presses the cloth against his forehead, ignoring his eyes as they narrow slightly. "… Perhaps you have your own reasons for avoiding the rest of The Team? Is there anything I need to be aware of?"

Before she can catch herself she presses the cloth a little too hard against his face, his sensitive flesh sticking against the cloth and forcing a slight wince out of him. "No, Kaldur." She half lies; she's not avoiding The Team, just one member.

 _Keep it together._

They're quiet for a while, listening to the indistinct voices humming in the cabin and the sound of dripping water as she switches out the cloth for a wetter one. She likes Kaldur because he doesn't press her for information, just accepts that he knows what it is important to know. He's the oldest of the team by far, three years her senior; maybe that kind of simple acceptance is something that comes with age.

He's been staring at the door beside them for a while, his expression blank and his mind obviously on other things. She moves to tend to a rough spot on his arm, her knees beginning to strain with the effort of kneeling beside him. "So," She casts around blindly for a subject—she's not alone with Kaldur very often, she's not exactly sure what they have in common—and the second she speaks his eyes are drawn back from the door, milky and focused on what she has to say. "You were talking in your sleep, you know. Atlantean."

He looks unsurprised by this information and simply curious as to where she's going. "Yes?"

"Well, I mean... I don't hear a lot of Atlantean."

"No?"

It's one of the few things she finds annoying about him; he's still learning customs and norms above water, and as a result never quite reacts how she thinks he should in the face of surprising information. It's as if he's still a tourist in a foreign country—which, she supposes, he kind of is—and still finds the charms of his new culture mysterious and kind of clichéd.

Her annoyance must have flashed on her face because at once his cracked lips quirk upwards. "Pardon me. I sometimes forget that Latin is a dead language on the surface world."

She refolds the cloth, still tending to his arm. "You were speaking Latin?"

Kaldur's demeanor changes very quickly, and it occurs to her how infrequently they ask him about his world; at once he seems much more cheerful when speaking of home. "Not Latin as your people know it—or knew it, perhaps. Like all languages mine has evolved over time, but it is possible to trace its earliest roots to those who surrounded us when we still lived on the surface world: Latin being one of many. Of course the two could hardly be considered entirely similar now; it is like comparing your modern English and slang to Old English." There's a moment when she thinks he'll simply trail off and sink back into his thoughts, but in an instant he's pulled himself back into their conversation. "I know you do not speak it, Artemis, but I am curious—did I say anything you recognize? I understand English is also rooted in Latin, perhaps-?"

"Uh." It's a tall order, especially considering the fact that she had been more concerned with surviving the Bialyan desert, but a single word falls to her lips. "Two-la? Or maybe Tooo-lah? …If that means anything to you…?"

Something dark passes over his features, as if they're flying through thick cloud cover, and his smile is gone; with a certain stiffness in his neck he goes back to staring at the door to the engine room. "You are thinking of 'Tula.'" He says to the door. "It is a name."

She watches his brows twitch together, feeling slightly awkward. "Well, up here some names have a meaning behind them. You know, sometimes people are named after family members or… Or flowers? Or something? Is it one of those?"

For a second his brows simply purse, then he addresses the door. "I believe in your Greek 'Tula' means 'gift.'"

"Well, that's not that bad." She's forcing her voice to be unnaturally cheerful; she has the distinct sense that whoever the name Tula belongs to has brought him a certain amount of trouble. "A lot of names have a Greek meaning. Like mine, Artemis—"

"The goddess of the hunt." Kaldur finishes for her, finally turning away from the door. "Yes, I studied the Grecian myths in my youth. Very amusing. Goddess of the hunt, wilderness, and virginity; wielding a bow and arrow." His eyes flicker to her quiver, still poking out behind her back. "I must confess, when we first met I thought it was simply a clever alias."

The side of her mouth quirks up. "No. Just some idiot parents."

"Fitting, regardless." He hesitates, and this time ignores her protesting hand as he moves to sit upright on the cot. "As far as I know, Kaldur is as common to my people as your John or Michael, but I do think I will do my research. It might prove an interesting way to pass the time."

A knock sounds out behind her, too quick and impatient against the metal door frame. "The man of the hour. How you feeling Kal?"

She can feel her cheeks heat up as Wally speaks, a fact that doesn't go unnoticed by Kaldur; with a glance at her face the corners of his lips quirk upwards before he shifts slightly, getting his footing. "I am well. I think it is time for me to take my place in the main cabin." She can feel his scaly hand tug gently on her forearm, helping her to her feet. "Thank you, Artemis. For the talk and your kindness." He says sincerely, but she doesn't miss the deliberate flattening of his cracked lips before he walks past her.

It's just her and Wally now, trapped in the too-small limbo between the cabin and the engine room. The cloth in her hand is still quite wet; the gentle drip of water from her palm to the toe of her boot is so loud in the quiet that she can practically feel the moisture pressing itself on her eardrums.

Wally's mask is still a bit crooked from when she removed it, one of his eyeholes sitting higher than the other. "How are you doing?" He asks her, his voice a little more guarded than usual.

"Fine." She says truthfully. The cloth drips some more.

She's feeling a bit like an idiot for how she behaved in the desert; a mixture of guilty for almost killing him, a bit embarrassed for falling so easily for his flirtations, and mostly ashamed about what she had revealed to him in the haste of a moment. And unlike Kaldur he won't accept that he only needs to know the bare minimum; now that he knows there's something sinister going on with her family he won't stop until he knows the truth.

She can still see the bruise marks along his throat from where she strangled him with a bit too much precision.

He's been watching her, his eyes checking what he can see of her cheeks. "You look a bit flushed. Maybe get some water." Is all he says.

"Okay." For a moment she considers saying something else, but nothing else really occurs to her other than an apology—and she'll be damned if she starts apologizing to Wally on top of everything else. Instead she waves the dripping cloth awkwardly between them. "I'm going to go give this to Kaldur."

He nods, allowing her to shuffle awkwardly past him. They don't make eye contact.

* * *

She isn't quite sure how she feels about what happened in Bialya. In her quiet moments, before she sleeps, she can feel the pressure of Wally's hand in hers and half imagines she can feel something stir inside her. It's been a long time since someone has touched her for the sake of touching her; even Paula knows by now not to force herself on her. All these years of isolation have made her wary of other people, like a kicked dog.

She decides to take up running. It's Paula's suggestion, after watching her spend listless evenings hunched on the couch. Her mother isn't yet smart to the fact that Artemis sneaks out to prowl the after she's in bed, and for some reason when Paula rolls up to her and places a pair of runners beside her she doesn't object.

At first she hates the feeling of starting over; she used to be so fast, so sure of her stride. It takes a week of aching muscles and popped joints before she finds a rhythm, and after a few weeks of pushing herself she finds she's beginning to enjoy it again. There's something therapeutic in the way her heels pound into pavement, the joints in her knees aching and her throat raw as she begs for breath. She runs after school, after missions, around Gotham because she knows she can take care of herself and around Happy Harbor beach because she knows she won't have to.

She's on a post-run high right now, her pony tail sticking to the back of her neck as her bare feet drudge through the sand. She hasn't gone to the cave yet today, but now she's thinking of running there just for the sake of fetching a bandage; she can't afford a nicer pair of sneakers and the ones she has now leave blisters between her toes.

"Artemis!"

She glances over her shoulder, an unfamiliar jumping sensation sounding through her stomach at the sound of his voice. She has half the mind to turn and run back the way she came, but before she can properly get her footing her muscles ache in protest. She supposes there's little point in running away; he can always catch her.

There's a spray of sand as he stops beside her, and she half turns away to shield her eyes. "Baywatch." She greets coolly.

Her muscles are still aching but she forces herself to shoulder past him, the sweat on her legs now coated in a crusty layer of sand as she continues her walk down the beach. She reminds herself that she doesn't want to look at him, doesn't want to talk to him, her feet screaming as she forces them to dig into the sand and walk.

"Someone's in a bad mood." He taunts, and she can tell he's following at a half pace behind her, probably grinning cheekily at the sweat making her t-shirt stick to her back.

She sighs, turning back to him so quickly that her ponytail whips him across the chin. She ignores the runner's high that is forcing her to be happy and she puts on her best scowl, hoping to scare him away. "Don't you have someone else to annoy?"

"As a matter of fact, no." He replies cheekily, leaning forward slightly so she has to crank her neck back at an awkward level to keep looking him in the eye. "Actually, I need to talk to you."

She drops her gaze. She finds him saying this more annoying than him following her; she lets out a hard breath through her nose, debating. He can catch her before she reaches the Zeta Tubes. She can try to knock him out, she very nearly did it before—but she has a feeling attacking a team member wouldn't go over so well with the rest of the team. She considers drowning herself.

She doesn't want to talk to him. Hell, she can barely look at him without feeling… something. And not what she usually feels when she sees him; there's no longer any traces of annoyance, or anger, just... Confusion. And his palm pressing against the back of her thigh, her head pressed safely into the joint of his shoulder as he held her… She hates him for it. She can't afford to have feelings, let alone be confused by them.

She's still not looking at him; she's been glaring at the stain about his shirt collar that looks something like mustard. She turns away from him, risking a half glance up in the process: his ears have gone a little red, but other than that he's wearing the same annoying smirk he always wears around her. "So talk to me." She turns to continue walking. "What do you want, Wally?"

He sounds a little surprised when she speaks, like he didn't expect her to consent so easily. She registers a hesitation in his footsteps before he starts suddenly, keeping pace one step behind her like before. "Well it's not just me specifically. We've all been wondering why you haven't been around the cave as much lately-"

"I've been busy-"

"-And I was wondering if that had anything to do with what happened in Bialya."

She hates the fact that he's hit the nail on the head, hates the fact that as he says it her knee twinges slightly and her steps falter. But she keeps going, glaring at the empty space of salty air in front of her. "I told you, I've been busy. I haven't even given that mission a second thought."

She nearly walks into him; he's just zipped around in front of her and she nearly trips over her own feet in surprise, her nose almost colliding with his chest. She hates him, hates that her heart is suddenly pounding against her ribs and her mind is racing back to their first mission together and the only other time they've been this close, and _oh god_ , she wishes she had just drowned herself when she had the chance.

He's rubbing the back of his neck nervously, and suddenly he's the one who won't look at her; he's looking far off into the ocean at the end of the beach, his ears suddenly rosy. "Well I have. And I just wanted to let you know…" He hesitates. "I wanted to let you know that I'm under orders not to pry."

She glares. "Who's orders?"

He's brave enough to look her in the eye now, his hand dropping from the back of his neck and wedging itself in his pocket. "Kaldur's, if it matters. Look, M'gann is really missing you and you know I can't stand seeing my best girl like that… Look, I may not like it but… It's not my business, whatever it is that you're hiding."

He trails off, looking slightly ill-tempered. She can feel her own annoyance flaring unexpectedly. "I'm not hiding anything, Kid Idiot."

She brushes past him, half hoping for the sound of footsteps behind her. She only hears waves.

* * *

Kaldur finds her a few days later, clearing his throat and forcing her to look up from her homework. "I have been doing my research." He declares, an unfamiliar note of pride sounding in his voice. Then he tells her of Iceland and the meaning of his name: cold.

Against her will she remembers a time when a blade had graced his flesh and how she had staunched the wound; she remembers his blood, an unearthly navy, spurting from his skin. She remembers how cool to the touch it was, remembers it underneath her finger nails and feeling so alien against the warm pounding of her own. It suits him, and she tells him so.

He watches her do her homework for a while, even attempting to do a few of the easier math problems beside her. Kaldur is one of the few people she knows who loves learning. After a while she glances up at him, one of her fingers scratching at her chin. "You told Wally not to pry." She says. It's not a question.

He doesn't look up from the piece of scrap paper he's been working on. "Forgive me if I over stepped. But I felt it prudent to remind him that you will reveal your secrets when you are ready."

"What if I'm never ready?"

He doesn't say anything back, his eyes narrowed and focused on his work.

* * *

Saturday afternoon finds her on her hands and knees, hunting.

Hunting for a library book, specifically. She's covered all the usual places: the bookshelf in her room, the kitchen counter, her backpack. The Cave's carpet is scratching against a hole in the knee of her jeans, starting the beginnings of the fabric unravelling.

"What are you looking for again?"

Robin has been halfheartedly helping her search for the past half hour—if sitting on the couch and browsing between channels counts as helping. She leans back so her weight is balanced on her heels and send him a glare. "I told you, _East of Eden_. That library book that's due back on Monday."

Robin pauses in the act of rapidly flipping between wrestling and a group of women laughing around a hardwood table, the remote suspended awkwardly in the air. "I've never once seen you read that book." A stray hand goes up to adjust his sunglasses, which are sitting a little crookedly on his nose.

She wants to throttle him, but settles for rocking her weight backwards and forwards until she has the momentum to get to her feet, thinking. She knows she remembers having the book, remembers holding it in her hands—

She's just turned to try her luck in the kitchen again when she remembers, her feet somewhat awkwardly shifting their course and sending her stumbling slightly. In her mind's eye she can see two fast hands and an annoying grin. _Dammit, Baywatch_.

She hesitates slightly outside his door. She's never been inside Wally's room. She hates that she's even hesitating, as if something about what lays beyond the door frightens her.

Sucking in a breath, she knocks.

There's no answer, which settles her stomach slightly. She knows he's around the Cave today but he must be off somewhere else—she probably just missed him on his way to the kitchen—but she's glad he won't get the satisfaction of watching her beg to get her book back.

She brushes the door open, and the smell immediately hits her. It's walnuts and cinnamon and boyish and _Wally_. In an instant she can feel his neck pressed against her forehead, can hear his mouth sucking in breaths as they pass through the sand. The memory sends her stomach into knots and she has half the mind to turn around and march out of the room without a glance backwards.

Instead she holds her breath for a second and forces the sudden wrinkle popping up over her nose to smoothen, wrenching her eyes open and forcing her senses to explore the rest of the room as she ventures into its center. Every goddamn thing in the room is red and yellow—the bedspread, the posters, and the cushion on his desk chair. He's messy, she notices; the corners of his room are blocked with piles of dirty clothes, his bed unmade. The only part of his room that looks remotely clean is his desk.

And that's where she sees it: her book, her library book, perched neatly at the corner of his desk, close to his bed. She crosses the room in a few paces and already has it in her hand when she notices something is wrong with its weight—the spine feels awkward against her palm, too straight and narrow. She turns it over in her hands.

There's a book mark poking out almost three quarters of the way through, and she realizes he's unbent all her marked pages, smoothed out the edges it made it mildly passable once again. For a half second she's flooded with annoyance; she slams the book firmly against his desk, scowling at its pristine appearance. Regardless of the fact that she can still see the rips and the stains where she had made it her own, she hates that he handled and altered her book, changed it to better fit him… Unconsciously, she pulls his book mark out and crumples it in her fist.

She pulls her eyes back into focus onto the rest of the desk, finding herself glaring at some algebra homework. He's a neat worker: all of his answers follow the lines of the page, row upon row narrowing into his boxed off answer. She half glances at the door.

She's been falling behind since her transfer to Gotham Academy (or maybe it's just the fact that she's now trying to balance schoolwork with actual crime fighting.) Her math in particular has been suffering. But she can see more clearly in his writing than her own teacher's how he arrived at the solution… She pauses, reaching for an abandoned pencil, eyeing the next question.

She's careful to mimic his steps, but it doesn't stop her from making a mess of the problem. The damn eraser on the pencil is ancient and leaves big black smudges when she tries to hide her mistakes, forcing her to scratch out her misgivings with lead. Before long her whole equation is a jumbled mess and she's wishing she had had the sense to start on her own piece of scrap paper, rather than on Wally's already completed problems…

"Can I help you, Blondie?"

She nearly jumps out of her own skin as she hears his voice, but forces herself to remain still, her surprise only translating to the sudden dropping of the pencil. She glances at him coolly over her shoulder. "You had my book." She says as evenly as she can.

He crosses the room in an instant, the sudden breeze sending her hair fluttering against the back of her neck. "And what? You decided to do my homework along the way?"

She can feel her cheeks redden as he examines her mess of a problem, her right hand still clenched around his bookmark. Now that he's close to her, the smell of walnuts and cinnamon is so strong she can actually feel herself salivating, and she catches herself fighting off the unfamiliar twisting in her stomach.

He picks up her pencil and crosses out all of her work, starting from scratch a few lines over. She's expecting him to tease, or to make a snide remark, but instead his brows set and when he glances up at her his eyes are oddly bright. A scientist, about to teach her something. "You're starting at the wrong part of the equation…"

She glares as he starts babbling at her, glancing at her stony expression every few seconds looking for any signs of her understanding. She supposes he's a decent person; being a super hero sort of requires him to be. And maybe she is starting to grow a little fond of him, in the loosest sense of the word. She likes that the other day he saved her exactly one cookie off the pan instead of eating them all. And if she's being honest she kind of likes that he didn't lose her book and actually took the time to read it, even if he did violate it by removing all her creases and marked pages. She likes that he's taking the time to explain this to her, even though she's sure that he suspects her of being a lost cause when it comes to math, which isn't exactly wrong. But she doesn't, by any means, like him. Just parts of him.

She registers that he's finished his lecture and that he's looking at her expectantly, the smirk on his face a little challenging but not entirely unfriendly. She forces herself to scowl and grab _East of Eden_ off his desk. "I came here to get a book, not a math lesson." She snarls, releasing the crumpled book mark and letting it fall to the floor.

She can see Wally stiffen as she stalks past him. "You know, some people just say 'thank you'." He mutters after her.

* * *

Her breath is coming short and fast, the edges of her vision beginning to blur. She's suddenly clumsy too, and with the uncomfortable twist of a wrist she's crashing through the air vents. She lands awkwardly on her shoulder, the fall striking something against her bones and causing a deep twinge of pain to sound through her entire arm.

She's lies still for a moment, her breathing still quick and shallow. She can see the outline of a shelf, a few slots filled with odd items and meaningless junk, and immediately she knows she's in the trophy room. Clinging to the corners of the room she smells walnuts and cinnamon, as if Wally had been in here for a while adjusting his treasures. Biting her lip she turns her face to the carpet, wishing she could drown in the scent and hide from her panic.

 _Calm down, calm down, calm down..._

 _... Keep it together. Don't be a baby..._

It takes her awhile to get to her feet, her breathing still short and feeling light headed; the fall did something to her, and now everything around her is blurry and she feels uneven. She catches the eye of the Cheshire Cat mask on the wall.

"Jade." She blurts out without worry. She knows there is nobody left to find her, nobody left to hear her secrets now that they're all dying at the hands of The Reds. She stumbles forward until she's looking the mask in the face. "… Why did you leave?"

The mask holds no answers and merely looks mischievously back at her. Somewhere above her a robotic voice sounds, "One minute."

 _It was fun while it lasted_ , she thinks bitterly, glancing at Wally's stupid souvenirs decorating the shelf. She has to admit, she's had more fun these past few months than she has in a while, and done more good than she ever would have by herself. The Team feels more like family now than her own blood does. She blinks once, absentmindedly staring on the arrow that started it all.

She pulls her eyes into focus, staring at the metal tip.

 _Wait._

* * *

She pulls at the hem of her skirt. Considering the fact that it bares the insignia of a wealthy establishment the Gotham Academy uniforms are made of mercilessly cheap material; the fabric of her skirt keeps clinging to her legs and rising higher and higher.

"What are you looking at?" She snarls at a group of passing freshmen boys, all of which looking at her legs with a bit too much fascination. They all laugh and saunter past her.

She hates it here. She hates that everyone knows she's only here because of a scholarship, hates the fact that it only takes one glance at her worn down backpack to guess which part of the city she's from. And most of all, she hates these shirts and their cheap _fucking_ material and the stupid frilly socks that accompany them. One of the socks in question has come unstuck from her calve, pooling about her ankle. A few swears ring in her head as she twists the combination to her locker. She liked the academy much better at night.

She's just opened her locker when she realizes she's being watched; one of the boys has looped back around and come to a stop a few lockers down from hers, leaning almost casually against the row of metal. She looks away too quickly, beginning to fuss with her books—he looks eerily familiar. Another thing she doesn't like about the uniform is that she truly does feel weak while wearing it, as if the vulnerability of the skirt is somehow leaking into her vulnerability as a person.

She risks another glance and realizes the boy is still there, his cerulean eyes unblinking and following the movement of her hands as she shifts textbooks into the shelves of her locker. There's something almost amused about the look he's giving her, as if he's baiting a snake into striking. She adjusts the length of her skirt again.

"Can I help you?" She says in her toughest voice, but somehow it still comes out unsure, making her sound so much younger than she really is. The boy grins.

"Come on, Artemis. You can do better than that."

The second she hears his voice she places him, letting out an annoyed hiss. "God, Robin."

He snickers, eager to see that she's caught on and now walking causally forward until he's standing beside her. "Took you long enough. Although for the record, around here I go by Dick."

She snorts. "Fitting."

* * *

"The source of the tip was Sports Master."

The moment she hears her father's alias her heart stalls. Kaldur is looking down at them all, is his jaw locked and a solemn expression reflected in his milky eyes. She feels Robin's eyes on her back, and almost warningly she tilts her head, locking eyes with him over her shoulder.

 _Don't._ She repeats the word over and over in her head, willing him to understand. She knows he knows more than he's letting on, more than she's comfortable with anyone knowing, but she's… She's not ready for everyone to know, not ready for the judgmental looks and accusations. Not ready to have her trustworthiness called into question again.

Almost imperceptivity he nods, and although she can't be certain because of his mask she thinks his eyes flicker back to Kaldur.

* * *

 **AN: Another chapter up! Please read and review!**


	5. 4: Maybe

**AN: Some good, old fashioned Spitfire is in order.**

* * *

Before she can stop herself, she's grabbed him and dragged him behind a tree.

She can feel the adrenaline pounding in her ears. Wally's right arm is hanging at a crooked angle, the joints of his elbow bent so awkwardly that his arm is being forced to twist painfully at his side. He's trying to glare at her but is only managing to wince in pain.

"What are you doing?" He snarls as she rips the piece of fabric from his hands. "That's my souvenir!"

He's so childish sometimes it kills her, worrying about collecting another trophy for his shelf when his arm is so obviously broken. She can feel her pulse pounding in the back of her neck as it always does when she's anxious, adrenaline and the never ceasing need to survive pooling against the uneven flesh that gathers there. "Would you hold still?" She hisses.

She doesn't warn him before she sets the joint, shoving his arm into a bending position and making him emit a low and guttural sound in the back of his throat. "What are you doing?" He gasps, still in too much pain to stop her from draping the fabric around his arm.

"Making you a sling, what does it look like?"

She knots the fabric neatly behind his neck, and for a moment as she's pulling back her finger tips brush through his hair. Something quirks in her stomach, and before she can do the sensible thing and take a step back his eyes are locked on hers and it may as well just be the two of them.

Something unspoken passes between them, something unknown and therefore dangerous. Something changes in his expression, something she's never seen before, and whatever it is feels more terrifying to her than their current battle against the Injustice League.

She opens her mouth to ask him "What's your problem, Kid Idiot?" But before she can even form the beginnings of the question Wolf has collided with her, sending her crashing painfully a few feet away. She chokes on a mess of matted hair and somewhere someone calls her name.

* * *

"Going to sign my cast, Beautiful?"

She pauses. He hasn't called her beautiful since Bialya.

He's got one eyebrow quirked up at her when she turns to look at him, sprawled out on the couch with his hair mused. If he notices his slip up he doesn't acknowledge it beyond the pinking of his ears, still smirking at her and waving a sharpie tauntingly in her direction. "Come on. Even Connor did!"

He's still got that strip of fabric from the Count's cape holding his cast clad arm in place. He's not lying; she can see Superboy's too neat scrawl along the curve of his thumb, thicker and more pointed than the rest of the writing. Everyone's signed it with their civilian names, Kaldur's alone hiding just before the crook of Wally's elbow in case anyone were to recognize Atlantean. But they're all there. Connor, Megan, Dick, even a few unknown names that she guesses are his friends from school. She supposes it is her turn.

Sighing, she rounds the corner to sit on the couch beside him. The sharpie is warm from where his fingers touched it, and even though she's settled far enough away from him she can feel the heat radiating off his body. She wonders vaguely if he has a fever.

"A little closer, Blondie. You're killing me here."

She glances up, noticing the awkward angle her distance is forcing him to hold his damaged arm. "How do you know that's not the point?" She scowls, moving closer anyway.

Wally actually chuckles, and the smell of walnuts floods her nostrils. "Nah, you like having me around too much."

She's just about to touch the tip of the pen to the plaster of his cast when something forces her to glance up, her eyes immediately catching his. It's like they're back in the battle field again, his eyes locked on hers in a way that's much softer than usual. She doesn't like the way he's looking at her, with affection. Like they're friends. Because they're not. She drops her eyes back to the cast.

 _Nice One, Baywatch. Next time stay out of the way. – Artemis_

* * *

There's a breeze coming off the ocean now; the air is beginning to turn dry with the change in seasons, the humidity no longer keeping her hair from becoming a big pool of static. She'd discovered how much she liked reading on the beach a few weeks ago; even now, when the wind is beginning to shift between summer breezes and autumn winds she still finds she enjoys the sound of waves against the echo of words inside her skull.

She looks up from her book, a page catching on her thumb and leaving a faint line in her cuticles. She's not quite dressed for the weather anymore; when she came out it was pouring sunshine, but the lateness of the hour is beginning to leave its impact, sending goose pimples across her bare arms and the exposed tops of her feet.

She's just considered putting her shoes back on when she spots red hair; Wally, walking down by the water. He's got his jeans rolled up ridiculously, his ankles wading through the water and the sleeve of the sweater he's holding nearly dragging in the ocean as well. Probably the last time he'll walk in the water this year.

Before she can stop herself she's yelling at him, already half hoping he won't hear her over the sound of the waves. "Aren't you cold?"

He looks back at her; she can't see his face in front of the sunset. "No. Fast metabolism."

She doesn't really know what that means but doesn't bother asking him for clarification; she gets to her feet and shakes the sand out from between the pages of her book, walking down to meet him. "Nice night."

"Last good one of the summer." He replies, and for a moment they both turn without speaking to watch the sun make its descent into the waves. The sky is bright orange for a fleeting moment and as they watch the clouds turn grey, a few streaks of pink flavoring the horizon. He's holding his cast clad arm somewhat awkwardly against his chest.

"You ditched the sling?" She asks, breaking the silence.

He grins at her, the same roughish grin he sent her in Bialya, and for a half second her stomach twists. "Hey, still needed a souvenir." His smile is igniting so many things, so many feelings all at once. Maybe this is something she's supposed to be feeling. Maybe this is just what happens when you spend so many hours together, fighting beside each other.

 _Maybe it's okay._

His eyes have dropped to her arms, which are still prickled against the wind. "You want this?" He asks her, extending the extra sweater towards her.

"No." She lies. "I was just about to go in." She watches the sweater fall to his side before she turns, walking determinedly towards The Cave. She can feel eyes on her back.

* * *

October hits and the weather begins to turn cold and like always her knuckles start to crack. It's small, at first. She picks up the habit of biting at the fraying cuticles of her fingernails, the peeling skin catching between her teeth and hanging on still a little too deeply, leaving long lines of too-new skin at the end of her fingers.

She's using her bow more than she has in a while. They're in the middle of a skirmish with some low-ball Gotham thugs when she notices the blisters on her first finger and thumb, swollen and rough and throbbing as she fires arrows. She discovers a few short hours later as she settles down to work on Geometry that it hurts to hold a pen. The next morning the blisters burst, coating the end of her hand in pus and leaving two gaping holes in her flesh.

She's still absently picking at the imprints of the holes a few days later, the evening air in Gotham biting at the exposed flesh of her chin. She's still new to this whole "hero" thing, not quite used to the sensation of doing something good for others rather than just for herself. Being on the team is still new and exciting, and the small salary she makes for being a member has meant less stealing and more bills being paid.

The thrill of sneaking out at night is still the same. She isn't wearing the full costume, because she still thinks it's obnoxious, but for nights like this one she dons the mask and her old hoodie she used to prowl the darkness in. She supposes some things never change, no matter which side you're on.

She's perched on the edge of a diner roof, not quite the vantage point she wants being a mere two stories above ground. It's been quiet the past few days—far too few sirens. She likes to think that word has gone round that there's a new hero patrolling the streets of Gotham, looking out for the little people in ways that Batman and Robin can't. She likes to think she's making a difference.

"Hey there, Baby Girl."

Immediately the muscles in her back tense, Jade's too smooth voice carrying towards her in the night. In a heartbeat she's snapped her bow into place but she's too slow with reaching for the quiver; Jade is on her at once, holding both her wrists above her head with one hand and pressing a sai into her throat. The ease in which she angles the blade against her pulse point is unsettling.

"What do you want?" She hisses, the cool metal of the weapon scratching at her throat. Jade's eyes stare out at her from behind the Cheshire Cat mask.

Her sister lets out a menacing chuckle and digs the sia further into her throat, a small amount of blood beginning to well up against the blade. "I have a message from our darling father." She says in her raspy voice, her breath brushing against her cheek and stinking of liquor.

"I thought you didn't work for Dad."

"I'm repaying a little favor." The sai is removed and she has enough time to register the warm trickle of blood running down her neck before Jade's elbow is colliding with her nose, knocking her head backwards. "Daddy doesn't like your little evening patrols." Jade's voice doesn't alter as Artemis hits the ground, blood now pouring from her nostrils. She's on her hands and knees when there's a swift kick to her side, winding her. "Frankly, I thought you of all people would know better than to try to clean up his streets. Is your cute little team keeping Boy Wonder from coming here and doing it himself?" Jade aims another kick but this time she's smart enough to dodge it, scrambling towards the fire escape— _she can't fight Jade, she's always been faster and stronger_ —

She's almost at the ladder when Jade seizes the end of her pony tail, yanking her backwards until she's collided with the ground, the cement against her back kicking air up and out of her lungs. "I'm not done speaking yet little girl." Her bow is a few feet away, Jade's sai pointing at her throat again and she's breathing hard and fast. "Consider this a warning." She says, advancing forward until the sia is pointed between her eyes. "You're done here, little girl."

There's a final kick in the ribs before Jade disappears into the night, leaving Artemis to catch her breath. All she can smell is blood, the stench doing nothing to erase the shock flowing through her system—this scene is all too familiar, and unwillingly she closes her eyes only to see her battered and crippled mother, bleeding and being pressed against pavement.

She snaps her eyes open to avoid the memory, an amateur mistake—before she knows it she's vomiting up bile and her own blood is flowing into her mouth, choking her. It takes a few moments before she can settle herself, her teeth clenched as she tries to sort out the feelings of both the past and the present.

 _You're alive, you're okay, don't panic… Your mother isn't dying, Paula's safe and at home and you need to focus…_

She rises rather clumsily from her hands and knees, blinking rapidly until the stars disappear from her eyes and are replaced with tears. More to distract herself, she does inventory of her body: bloody nose. A bruised rib or two, maybe. Bruised ego? Definitely.

It bothers her that she didn't even consider fighting Jade. She's still the damaged little girl who loves her family and worships her older sister. She still doesn't know enough to raise an arrow in her defense and she's still not good enough. She clenches her fists just to feel the skin crack.

It takes her a while to stumble down the fire escape, her bruised ribs hindering her slightly. What she wants now is a dark room, a place to heal privately and away from prying eyes… She doesn't want to go home, doesn't want to see Paula when she wakes in the morning. She doesn't want to explain what happened and see the terror in her eyes and doesn't want to acknowledge her own misgivings. The zeta tube is a block away... And there's always a chance that everyone will be asleep.

 _Artemis. B-07._

She nearly curses as she enters The Cave— the light is on in the kitchen and she can hear voices speaking in low tones. Wiping her nose clumsily on her sleeve, she hopes she doesn't look too worse for wear.

Wally and Robin look up as she enters the kitchen, and swiftly avoiding their eyes she beelines for the fridge; her stomach is beginning to churn again and she's hoping to God there's something in there to settle it. "Hi." She greets, ripping her bag off her shoulders and depositing it on the floor beside her.

She can't see their faces, but she can sense the look they send each other. She supposes they've known her long enough to know that something is off. Her nose is still bleeding, a small dribble of blood running over her lips and dripping under her chin. Wiping her face on her sleeve once more, she feels her muscles tense as she bends to search the contents of the fridge, her bruised ribs protesting with a spasm that makes breathing suddenly difficult.

Robin the first to speak. "Artemis?" He ventures carefully, and she can feel both sets of eyes on her back as she straightens with some difficulty, soda in hand, and stares at the counter. "Are you okay?"

 _Focus. Don't break down in front of them._

"Fine." She tries to say easily, her nose sounding somewhat stuffed with the amount of blood still gushing from it. Her hands have started shaking and bleeding so badly she can't quite manage the tab on the top of the soda. She wipes her nose again and turns to face them defiantly, trying to ignore the way their eyes take in the blood on her chin.

She can tell Wally is trying to catch her eye, but after a moment he exchanges another look with Robin, and she can tell the energy in the room is changing quickly from bemusement to worry. "I don't know if I would call wandering into The Cave covered in blood fine." Wally says carefully.

She abandons the soda and turns her back on the two of them, slamming the bottom of the can on the counter. She forces her bleeding hands to go back to hiding in the pocket of her hoodie, her fingers cramping into fists. For one wild moment she considers telling the truth. She wants so badly to tell them about Jade, tell them about her father—but not yet. _Never_. Instead she closes her eyes as Wally appears beside her, taking pity on her and popping open the top of her soda for her. "It's nothing to worry about." She says as evenly as she can, hoping something in her voice warns them not to ask questions that she won't tolerate.

She can sense the two boys swapping another look, but it appears almost as if something is settled between the two of them. Absently she reaches up to pull her mask off her face, realizing too late that her hands are now bleeding so badly that blood is dripping down her forearms, sticking obviously to her platinum hair and leaving little droplets on her cheek.

There's an awkward silence between the three of them as she lowers her hands, her blood dribbling off her knuckles and onto the floor. "I'm gonna go clean up." She says in the same, ridiculously fake voice. She grabs her soda off the counter and leaves before they can say much else.

* * *

She scrubs the blood off her chin so savagely that her face feels raw; the skin on her hands is now agitated beyond relief and she feels like no matter how hard she tries she'll never really be clean. She pauses, one finger running under the tap and reaching up to run along the dried mark of where the sai pressed into her.

She hates this feeling. She hates secrecy and lies, the thing she's grown up with… She hates that she can't do anything but dig herself a deeper hole. But what is she supposed to say? That her assassin sister is sending her warnings from a murderous father? Yeah. That would go over great.

"Need any help?"

She drops her hands and pulls her eyes into focus; Wally is reflected behind her in the mirror, hovering somewhat awkwardly in the doorframe. He's wiping his finger tips on his pants, leaving a red stain on his jeans. Now that she's looking properly she can see how he found her so easily in the locker room alcove—almost every surface she's touched is coated in blood; she must have left a trail leading here.

She hesitates. "I don't need help."

He ignores this, swooping into the locker room with a look on his face that leaves her throat tighter than usual. The alcove and its row of sinks and cabinets suddenly feels a little cramped. He doesn't say anything but stands beside her, watching as she adjusts the temperature of the faucet. "Rough night?" He says, looking down at her and grinning slightly.

She swallows. "No." Her voice sounds hollow. Wally's eyebrows purse slightly, but he doesn't argue with her as she holds both of her palms under the too-cool stream of water. They both watch as the water rolls over her blotched digits, staining the white of the sink a strange rust color before disappearing down the drain.

They don't talk for a while, just watching the water sooth her knuckles. She likes Wally best when he isn't speaking much; when he doesn't ruin things by adopting his usual "Wall-man" masculine persona. If only he was like this all the time.

She turns the water off eventually, allowing her fingers to drip dry in the pool of the sink. She's a little unsure of what to do next, and she's almost waiting for him to start asking questions. Instead he reaches for the hook behind her, quietly passing her a towel.

She avoids his eyes, glaring at her fists. Her right hand his worse than her left and she winces as the water is wicked away, a few stray fabric strands catching into the deeper cracks of her skin, aggravating them and causing a few bubbles of red to burst along the surface. A wrinkle pops up above her nose as she inhales the metallic scent of fresh blood.

"Dry hands." He comments, noticing her scowl. She doesn't say anything back.

She finally risks looking him full in the face. He's not looking directly at her, his eyes examining the wet stains of blood around her sleeves, the brown marks littering the front of her sweater. For a half a second she think he's going to ask her something, his lips half opening, before his eyes land on the mark of a blade on her jugular. At once his mouth tightens.

She think she's done about all she can; she makes a sort of half movement towards the door when he stops her, shifting his weight so he's blocking her path. "There's some salve in the cabinet. If you want it."

He doesn't wait for her answer, reaching over her shoulder and opening the cabinet above the sink. He pulls out a small circular tin of some sort of ointment that has a rather sickly smell to it; before she can stop him he's got one of her wrists in his hand, pressing the container into her palm. "It'll make it sting less."

She just looks at him. "… What?"

"What do you mean, what?"

She doesn't really trust him; one of his fingers is resting against the pulse point of her wrist and she's sure he can feel her heart speeding up, her eyes flickering between both of his as if trying to catch him in a lie. She's not used to people being nice to her for no reason; usually there's some sort of trick or manipulation behind it. Her fingers refuse to stiffen around the container, not matter how tightly he furls them around it.

A wrinkle appears between his eyes and he actually lets out an annoyed sigh, taking the tin back into his own palm. "God, Artemis—" He begins, unscrewing the lid and reaching for her hand.

He's barely got a grip on her before she's ripped her hand from his, the violent movement sending her knuckles cracking again. "I can do it myself, Baywatch. Now will you mind telling me what's with the nurse act?"

Wally is obnoxious enough to roll his eyes, looking mildly annoyed as he shrugs. "Robin asked me to."

It's a lie and they both know it; regardless, he's still standing defiantly in front of the door and blocking her exit point. With an annoyed hum she begins spreading the salve on her hands, which has a sticky and herbal smell that is so pungent that it nearly blocks out the smell of blood altogether. She has to admit, it does feel good on her skin; it's soothing and cooling the irritation in a way that water never could.

He's humming under his breath when she glances up at him, his arms crossed and watching her movements closely to make sure she doesn't miss any red spots. He meets her eye. "What?"

She decides its best to speak what's on her mind; putting the lid back on the tin, she turns to replace it back in the cabinet. "I expected you to be asking a thousand questions."

His reflection smiles as she resets the cabinet in place, steadying the mirror. "I'm on a gag order, remember? Now get some bandages, you're still getting blood everywhere."

His green eyes crinkle with the half smile he's sending her. She smells walnuts.

* * *

The following afternoon she takes her place on the uncomfortable metal tablet, her mind buzzing. She determined to prove herself after what happened last night, the indignity of having Jade attack her. She won't be the weak link in the team anymore, even if this is just a training exercise that's happening inside their heads. She won't let anyone down.

Wally takes his place on the tablet beside her. "How are the hands doing?"

Her thumb is scraping along the crease of her bandages, his eyes following the movement in her lap. "Fine."

Things are a little awkward between them, as they always are when they try to be nice. But she supposes he did do her bandages last night and it wouldn't kill her to say thanks.

Batman calls for them to lie down. There's a few last minute exchanges of best wishes and good luck, and she figures now is her moment. "Wally?" She says quietly.

He turns his head towards, and for a fleeting moment it feels almost like they're lying beside each other in bed. She watches his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. "Yeah?"

She loses her nerve last minute. "…Try not to die, idiot."

* * *

 _First one dead._

 _First one dead._

 _First one dead._

She keeps repeating the words in her head as M'gann sobs a few tablets over. She can't even look at Wally. She can't look at anyone; she's been staring at the sterile white of the tablet below her as people talk around her, Batman debriefing and mentors hushing their students. There is no one here for her to be comforted by. She leaves them all to it, stalking out of the room and ignoring the feeling of eyes on her back.

It's somewhat of a relief to hear the door shut behind her, to escape to the confines of her bedroom. She presses her back against the flat surface behind her, trying to clear her mind and sort out emotions.

 _Stay calm._

She remembers pain, blinding white pain. It reminds her of burning her lips on too hot tea, the kind of pain that singes the skin and surges to the beat of a pulse. Burnt alive. She remembers the feeling of losing limbs tendon by tendon, each muscle ripping and popping and becoming unhinged until there was nothing left. She remembers the briefest of moments in which she saw herself, as if from an outside point of view—but it wasn't just her, it was her across time. The first time she made a man bleed. Fighting beside her father. Jade running away. Mom out of prison. The Team. All her memories, and then nothing.

Her breath is coming in hard and fast again, as it always does when she's in a panic. She presses her bandaged palms to her face, hoping the feeling of her own flesh against her will steer the foul experience from her mind. "It wasn't real." She whispers to herself.

 _Then why does it feel like it was?_

It takes a few minutes for her to escape from her own mind and abandon the door, but when she does all she wants to do is look at herself. Almost viciously she rips her jacket from her shoulders, throwing it violently on the floor as she walks towards the mirror.

Considering having "died" an hour or so ago she looks pretty good. Her skin looks oddly pale despite her natural darkness, her hair looking almost silver in the evening light. She doesn't know how genetics gave her the gift of her father's platinum hair but she is thankful for the blessing. Despite his bad qualities the blondness is something she knows she would miss otherwise.

She's reaching out to caress her own reflection, the mirror cold under her palms. She's alive, she reminds herself, taking an exaggerated breath just to watch her chest rise and fall. It's not quite enough to convince her.

She glances at the door to make sure it's locked, her fingers already prying open her belt. In a matter of moments her jeans and boots are lying on the floor, shortly followed by her shirt. She pauses, then strips herself of her bra and underwear too.

She breathes a little better; finally at least somewhat convinced that she's present, she's there. Nobody has seen her naked before, nobody can manipulate this image for her. She clasps her breasts, her fingers tracing her nipples just to watch them pucker. Beneath her left breast there is a heartbeat.

She allows her hands to scour the rest of her body, feeling the stretch marks along her thighs and the hardened edges of ancient scars. She has so many now that she can hardly recall where they all came from… With one exception. As she thinks it her right arm reaches over her shoulder, pressing to find the knotted lump at the base of her neck.

For half a second she doesn't think about the exercise, she just remembers. Then she blinks back tears and turns away from the mirror, not wanting to look anymore.

Her mind still wanders between old memories and new ones, the pain and frustration all echoing around her head. For a while she simply stands there, naked, before she manages to focus: _clothes_. She needs clothes.

She doesn't have much here besides an old track tee shirt from Gotham North and a few pairs of sweats, but they still feel good against her roughly hewn skin—cleansing, somehow. She doesn't bother with underwear or socks, keeping her hands busy and refolding all her clothing before shoving it unceremoniously into the bottom drawer.

When she's finished moving anxiety begins creeping upon her again and she grabs a book from the shelf at random, hoping a story will amuse her mind and keep her insanity at bay. Her eyes skim the pages without really taking anything in, her foot tapping against her desk chair as she folds down pages at random.

It's not enough to keep her distracted, and soon she's given up on reading entirely and is simply focusing on not crying, the heels of her hands pressing violently into her eye sockets. It's all the same to her now, be it javelin or jet beam, it's all pain and it's all panic that's rising in the back of her throat. Her limbs feel oddly numb, her hands leaving her eyes and tugging at the baby hairs growing at the top of her head, not hard enough to rip them out but hard enough to feel pain and remind her that she's still here. The quiet of her bedroom, once so comforting, now feels like a coffin; she needs to get out, breathe fresh air.

She's just gotten to her feet when she hears it: a knock at the door. She's lost track of how long she's been in here—a few hours, at least. It's well past midnight. For a moment she remains still, unsure if she even heard correctly, not wanting to move to check, when the knocker repeats themselves, insistently tapping at the door.

"Go away." She says, just loudly enough for whoever it is to hear. She doesn't want company.

The knocker pauses, then repeats themselves. After another moment she hears Wally's voice through her wall. "It's me."

Her breath catches a bit, and ridiculously her first instinct is to adjust her hair, smoothing the pieces she's ripped out of place and securing her pony tail tighter. She doesn't know how she feels about her and Wally being on "it's me" territory, but she doesn't have time to question it; she's already opening the door.

"Hi." She mumbles.

He's got both arms bracing against her doorframe, his shoulders tense and forcing the lines of his biceps to pop beneath his tee shirt. His smile looks slightly forced, and when he speaks he sounds like he has a bad head cold. "Hi."

For a moment they simply look at each other, both in pajamas and looking slightly undone. His eyes are rimmed with red and his hair is sticking up at odd angles, as if he's been running his hands through it repeatedly for hours. She can only hold his gaze for so long before she has to look at her feet, the intensity behind his apple eyes a little too much for her. "Can I come in?" He asks after a while.

She doesn't answer but moves aside, allowing him to brush past her. She shuts the door behind him and finds herself pressing her back anxiously against the door like she did hours ago, as if she's worried about crowding him.

He's never really been in her room before, besides the occasional request chip-ins for a midnight pizza run. He looks strange against all the grey and green finishing, almost like he's too bright to be in such a dark room. She watches him inspect his surroundings, looking oddly like a target for her to shoot at, his fingers running across the bindings of the books on her shelf. He pauses on one volume, and she's a little surprised to hear a snort come out of his nose. "Really?" He sends her a teasing look. " _The Princess Diaries_?"

At once her chin drops, her eyes narrowing over tightly crossed arms. "Did you really come here to make fun of the books I read when I was 11?"

They're at another standoff, her glaring and Wally's eyebrows still quirked up in a look that's almost too obnoxious to be real. After a moment there's a jump in his cheek and his smirk falls, and he's suddenly looking so sullen it causes a twist in her stomach. "No." He goes back to staring at her book shelf. "Sorry."

The apology catches her off guard, and now it's his turn to avoid her gaze. She watches him shove his hands in the pockets of his sweats, absently wandering closer to her with the pretext of examining the contents of her desk. She allows him to get as far as opening one of the drawers before she gives in, breaking the silence. "Why are you here, Wally?"

He snaps the drawer shut, one hand going up to its usual place at the back of his neck. "It's… It's just been a long day." She doesn't ask him to explain, because she knows exactly how he feels: confused, terrified, like a failure. But she lets him continue, because she's found with Wally that sometimes it's faster to let him say what he needs to say rather than avoid the topic.

"I know nothing happened." He spits out, going back to staring at the floor and saying it with so much conviction that she's sure he's trying to convince himself, not her. "I know it was all in my head. But every time I try to sleep, I just… I just keep seeing everyone dying."

This time she's the one to take a few steps forward, so all that's between them is her desk chair. "I know." She says uncreatively. "I know Wally, I was there."

His face suddenly darkens, and for the first time she's a little afraid of him. "No, you don't know." He says, a rough edge to his voice that she's never heard before. "You didn't have to… You didn't have to watch people die. You didn't have to see it through till the end."

"And you think I got off easy?" Her temper is flaring again, all the anger she's had surrounding Jade and her father and this stupid exercise bubbling to the surface too quickly. "You think I liked being the first one killed off? You think I liked failing my team?"

He rolls his eyes. "You didn't fail the team—"

"Yes I did!" She hisses, and for a moment she has to stop and blink back tears that she refuses to let fall in front of Wally; her finger nails are digging painfully into her forearms so as to prevent herself from pulling the chair aside and throttling him and her skin is beginning to crack again under the bandages. "I was stupid, it was a stupid mistake—"

At this point her voice actually breaks and she's lost control; a hot and thick trail of tears is blazing down her face and it's all she can do to wipe them away before he sees. "Get out, Wally." She says thickly, glaring at The Flash logo on his shirt.

He's watching her cry with a hard look on his face. "No."

"Then what do I have to do to make you leave?" She asks through gritted teeth.

He hesitates, his eyes still a bit dark, before he moves the chair from between them, one of his hands prying her arms apart. For one wild and terrifying moment she thinks he's going to kiss her; then his fingers wrap around her left wrist and his eyes close. Then he exhales, and she realizes he's checking her pulse.

She can feel her heart under his fingers, and he keeps his grip on her wrist painfully tight for a few seconds. Then his eyes flick open and the dark and rough Wally is gone, and suddenly he's nothing more than a teenage boy alone with her in the dark.

"Sorry." Is the first thing he says, the hand that had just been around her wrist returning to his pocket. He seems more like himself, although still somewhat downcast, his ears reddening slightly. "I just needed to check. I kept—I kept seeing it—" His voice breaks the same way hers did, and he's wiping clumsily at his nose. "I'm not crazy, or anything." He adds as an afterthought.

"You could have fooled me." She says, and instantly it's like they're back to normal; nobody is dead or traumatized, they're just Wally and Artemis.

He smirks at her, and for the first time she notices that he's grown slightly in the past few weeks; suddenly their gazes are no longer level, his eyes a fraction higher than hers. It's unnerving. "To be fair, you're not that hard to fool." He looks considerably lighter than before. "Well, I'd better get going, Blondie."

"Night, Kid."

He brushes a little too close to her as he walks out of her room.

* * *

A few hours later she feels like she's suffocating.

She wishes she had struggled. Wishing she had fought her way out of that therapy session, had run as fast as she could before they could take the chance to _talk_ or _relive her past_ or _confront feelings_. She only lasts a minute after they're finished, with M'gann's sobs against too thin walls and carpet so plush her feet sink in. Then all at once she's sprinting hard and fast, not stopping until the muggy air of the beach hits her.

It's beginning to rain now. Well, not quite rain. It's that time of year where the weather can't make up its mind and the barely warm air coming off the ocean is preventing the falling snow from truly becoming snow; either way, her hair is soaked and her skin is damp and she still can't catch her breath.

 _"_ _It's not a sign of weakness to open up to your friends."_

Easy for Black Canary to say. She didn't grow up with a homicidal father. She didn't have… Jade, who in many ways was more terrifying than her persona, Cheshire. If there was one thing she was certain of it was that if there was any part of her past she wanted to open up about, they weren't part of it.

She's found her way just outside the docking station at The Cave, the beach stretching out before her through the rain. She can see the waves turning restlessly. She inhales, spying red hair near the shore line.

"Are you trying to get sick?" Is how she greets him a minute later, turning up the collar of her jacket against the wind.

He doesn't even jump at her being right behind him. "I don't get sick, Blondie." He shoots at her over his shoulder, but there's something a little forced in his smile. She suspects he can read something similar on her face, because his smile drops a little and one of his eyebrows quirks up. "How was it?"

She doesn't ask what he's referring to; instead, she takes the extra pace to stand beside him, the waves of the shore licking at the toes of her sneakers and sending chilly water to bathe her feet. "About as good as anyone's I suppose. Yours?"

"Fine. Canary mostly watched me eat popcorn."

They don't mention the previous evening, and after a while of staring at the water in silence he turns his back on her.

* * *

 **AN: Please Read and Review!**


	6. 5: Out of Sorts

**AN: And we march onward.**

* * *

"… My last name is West."

She glances up from her Geometry homework, the pencil she had been pressing against her cheek slipping and leaving a dull eraser mark on her face. They had just agreed to silence moments before.

"What?" Is all she can get out.

His ears are slightly pink, but his gaze is strong and his eyes are locked on hers, teasing her with the raising of a brow. "My last name is West." He repeats, annoyingly emphasizing every syllable and smirking at her across the kitchen island.

She can feel her own cheeks darkening, and in an effort to control herself she glares. "I heard you the first time. I was wondering why you were telling me."

Her sharpness seems to tame him slightly, the brow falling and being replaced with a nervous smile, his tell all hand reaching up to press at the back of his neck. "I don't know. I thought— everyone else on the team knows my name." His elbow falls until it's pressed against the counter, his hand still scratching the side of his neck.

She drops her eyes back to her homework, trying her best to stay indifferent. But she can't help the small bubble of satisfaction from bursting in her stomach."You're telling me your secret identity? Could you be any more cliché?" She rolls her eyes, ignoring the look he's sending her, almost as if he's waiting for a verdict, an analysis. "Nice name." She says to her textbook, snorting slightly at the alliteration. "Wally West."

 _But it is nice, or at least it sounds nice coming out of her mouth._

She manages to work her way through half a question before she senses his gaze; glancing up, she can see him looking at her expectantly. "What?"

"You know what." He looks at her like she's an idiot. "It's your turn, harpy." He reaches forward a few inches until he can prod her wrist with a pencil.

The bubble of satisfaction quickly bursts, being replaced by a coldness that seems to spread to the ends of her fingers. She's at a cross roads—she can tell him now, be done with it, but something in the back of her mind nags her. He's only just started to trust her… If she's not mistaken, they're maybe even friends…

 _Is it really worth throwing that away?_

The smile he's sending her falters slightly, as if he can read exactly what is going through her mind, but before he can do anything other than stop prodding her wrist she's packing up her homework and tossing it in her back pack.

"… I have to go."

The zeta tube whirrs to life in front of her, and before she's fully disappeared she thinks she hears a sigh.

* * *

There's a dull pounding in her skull and she can't feel the ground beneath her. Something red is clouding her vision, and the air around her is moving so fast that she can hardly breathe.

 _...Okay... Focus... Can you...?_

She can feel arms around her and hands pressed against the back of her legs, but all the meaning that has to her is lost—her head hurts. At once she feels the weight of the earth pressing against her feet and their air around her is still. She blinks red out of her eyes. Wally is there, green eyes staring at her out of holes in a mask.

"Artemis?" The feeling of being still isn't comforting anymore; she can feel herself spinning, and wobbling, her quiver of arrows no longer on her back. Arms are grasping her shoulders, pinning her back against something solid. There's a smudge of black on his cheek and his lip is split. "Artemis, can you hear me?"

 _Y-yes._

 _... Wally?_

She blinks slowly, her brain struggling to comprehend anything other than his freckles. Before she can stop herself her hand is lifting clumsily in attempt to touch them, nudging helplessly against the fleshy joint of his shoulder before falling again to her side. They're fighting someone, they're both in danger…

 _Is this blood..._

 _...or red hair...?_

 _Kid Flash?_

Wally's looking at her like she's some sort of alien, and she can see the fear and confusion she's feeling being reflected off her own face and onto his. "Wal-?" She tries to say his name, but only manages to croak. She's dizzy.

 _Oh, God._

He jumps back just in time as she vomits, which is less vomit and more the bile that's been rising in her throat. Without him there to hold her up her knees give out, and she falls in her own fluids.

She spits, what's left of the contents of her stomach dribbling off her chin. Oddly, she feels better. Wally looks less comforted though; he's down beside her now, flipping her hair over her shoulder so it doesn't pool in her sick. "Artemis, it's okay—"

She starts gagging again, but forces herself to swallow down anything that's coming up. She can feel tears beginning to pool in her eyes, can feel her own vomit caking under her finger nails "Wally." She repeats, reaching for him and only managing to plant herself more firmly against the pavement.

 _The team... Get up._

 _Move._

 _Move!_

She wants to get back up, to keep fighting—her team needs her—but before she can even think of it he's stopped her.

"Hey, they've got it covered." He says soothingly, moving and sitting firmly across from her, his legs stretching out so far that his feet could touch behind her. "Let's take a look at that, okay?"

He tilts her chin up so gently that for a moment she swears she can smell sand and feel the Bialyan air whipping around them, his fingers reaching to peel her blood soaked mask away from her face. She can feel a few droplets running down her cheeks, hissing slightly as he lowers her cowl past the crown of her head. He shouldn't be exposing her face in the middle of battle.

 _Where's Dad?_

"Looks like a pretty good bump to me." He says, smiling at her. His teeth seem oddly bright. "I think you're concussed, Beautiful."

She vomits again, this time lurching forward and spilling sick into her own lap. Wally lets out something that sounds like a chuckle.

* * *

Everything is a competition for her.

She remembers being a child and battling with her sister for her parent's affection. She remembers holding her mother's hand during thunderstorms, and crawling into bed to lie between her parents when the wind thrashed so loudly she couldn't sleep. She remembers a lone moment in which she beat Jade in her father's eyes, and the one night she spent pretending to be asleep in his lap, the feeling of rough fingers scratching her hair behind her ears as he poured over building plans and escape routes for the following morning's mission. The victories were so small and scarce yet so treasured to her now, even after everything.

Mostly she remembers the failures, remembers pushing too far and trying too hard and a strike against her cheek. She remembers Jade leaving and having no one to compete with for attention, remembers missing her mother and the way things used to be as her father put her through drill after drill, her fingers blistering as she made her opponents bleed, her father grasping her hair and pulling her neck so far back it felt as if it would snap; she remembers watching blood pouring from wounds and the words _"You were born for this kind of life, baby girl_ " being whispered against her ear in a way that felt more predatory than affectionate.

She can't help but feel as if she's lost all over again when she sees the fake bandages being wrapped around Connor's cheeks, M'gann grinning down at him.

Not that she's been actively pursuing him; she's had a feeling that something had been happening between the two of them for a while. But it doesn't stop her from feeling the deep sense of betrayal in her core, a feeling that she knows is derived from another sister, not the adopted one that claimed her as her own.

 _It still hurts._

A few hours later she's picking dried blood from the ends of her fingers, long overdue for a shower. The evening was more trouble than it was worth, leaving her with a few aching ribs and flashes of murdered children. Zatanna is sitting beside her on the couch, her back unusually straight, ignoring the movie she put on with the pretext of hoping they wouldn't talk.

She's getting tired of the stare she's getting from the younger teen. With a scrape at her barely healed hands she sends her a dry look. "What?"

They're still getting to know each other but one of the things she likes about Zatanna is that she gets to the point, with very little preservations for feelings or embarrassments. "You said before that you would rather punch something than talk... I think we're all done punching."

"So?"

"So maybe it's time to talk."

She's hit a rough spot on her hands, mistakenly peeling away newly healed skin and sending a long stream of blood flowing from her cuticle. "I don't do talking."

Zatanna has the guts to smirk at her, crossing her arms as if something is final. "You're talking now."

"Oh, very clever."

She's been hoping they'll fall back into unnatural silence but Zatanna won't have it; reaching forward to grab the remote, the television is muted before she can so much blink. "You shouldn't be afraid to talk about feelings, Artemis. It's not healthy to keep things to yourself all the time. You know, that whole s _ecrets don't stay buried_ thing?"

"I'm fine." She says through gritted teeth. Zatanna doesn't back down.

"Did Connor and you used to date? What's the deal?"

She decides to be honest in hopes of cutting the conversation short, still feeling slightly ridiculous. "No… I made him tea once."

She expects Zatannaa to laugh and she does; a dry chuckle that isn't well suited to her, her black hair falling in waves over her shoulders. "Oh wow. Sounds serious."

Scowling, she reaches for the remote and unmutes the television and thankfully Zatanna seems to take that as an indication to be silent. The blood is still flowing down her fingers and she's wishing they were back in Manhattan; she liked Zatanna a lot more when she was simply fighting beside her.

* * *

It's the first big storm of the season.

She doesn't like the loud winds that accompany this time of year, forcing the leafless trees scrape against her bedroom window and the way the thick flakes make it impossible to see beyond a few inches in front of her. The whole thing makes her weirdly claustrophobic, and regardless of the lateness of the hour she slips out of her bed and throws her jacket over her pajamas, thinking of milder weather around the ocean.

She's disappointed when she zetas into the kitchen; even here she can hear the wind pummeling against the outside of the mountain, can feel the damp through her clothes. It sounds more like a thunderstorm than anything. For a moment she simply hovers around the zeta tube, not quite sure if she's better off here or at home. Then she smells walnuts.

It doesn't take long to find him; he's standing in front of the only large plane of glass in the whole building, it's uncovering against Batman's orders and probably his doing, the window's fire escape intentions being ignored. His bare feet are tapping anxiously against the floor and he's watching the violence outside with a sort of weird fascination; she can almost feel the air around him shifting, buzzing excitedly as the ocean swirls and the slushy rain outside pounds against the mountain. He glances over at her as she stops beside him, a childlike smile on his lips. "You're in late." He comments, but he doesn't look at her long; he's already turned his attention back to the storm outside.

"Couldn't sleep at home." She answers his unasked question, watching him carefully. "Although I don't think I'm going to have much luck here either."

She half turns, already considering an attempt at bed, when he reaches out, not grabbing her arm but her sleeve. "What, you're not going to watch the storm with me?"

She narrows her eyes. "No."

"Are you scared?"

He's barely baiting her, but she doesn't miss the slight change in his tone, the way his eyebrows raise barely a fraction. He knows how to get to her, and despite the fact that she doesn't like storms—she's not afraid of them, specifically, just the things they remind her of—she promptly turns back, allowing him to pull her by her sleeve until she's back to standing beside him.

For once she doesn't like that they're standing in silence, doesn't like that she can hear every whistle and crack unfurling outside in the night before them; it reminds her too much of gun shots and people screaming, blood sloshing against cement. "Are we supposed to do something?" She asks to break the unnerving silence.

Wally looks at her like she's an idiot. "No."

"Then what's the point?"

"The point?" He looks slightly flustered, his voice agitated as he gestures wildly to the window. "The point is to watch one of the most beautiful natural phenomena occurring right in front of us!"

It's her turn to bait him; she can see his ears beginning to redden, and with a quirk of her lips she cocks a hip to the side, looking bored. "Doesn't look that great to me."

This really sets him off; the blush is beginning to creep into his cheeks and down the back of his neck, his freckles standing out against his skin like ink against paper. For a second he seems to inflate, and she knows what's coming before he even opens his mouth: a lecture, most likely, on the subtler and more scientific points regarding thunderstorms. Before he can even get into his stride she cuts him off, turning towards the kitchen. "Save it, Kid Weather Network. I'm making tea."

She gets about three paces away before she hears him let out a rather annoyed sighed. "Make me a cup too." He calls after her.

She doesn't know why, but for a moment her pace stutters and her stomach twists; as if the idea of making tea for him is exciting rather than a little demeaning. She forces herself to let out an exasperated sigh in response, hoping her can hear it.

She sets to boiling water on the stove, her stomach still working itself into knots. _It's just tea_ , she reminds herself. Wally doesn't know that tea is somewhat of a sacred ritual in her home, he doesn't know that she associates tea with quiet and trust and maybe that's why she freaked out so much when Connor rejected her cup a few weeks ago… She watches as the burner beneath the kettle glows red, steam beginning to furl out of the tip. _It's just tea, nothing more_. The kettle whistles just as she's turned towards the cabinet, grabbing her quarry from the glass container in the cupboard.

It takes a few seconds after the warm water has hit the leaves before the smell hits her; oranges and cinnamon and something almost indescribable steaming up from the two glass containers and hitting her full on in the face. It's a smell that reminds her only of happy memories; she can already feel the tightness of her sleep deprived muscles beginning to loosen under their influence.

He's still in the same spot where she left him, his feet still tapping excitedly against the ground and his breath beginning to fog the glass in front of him. Wordlessly, she passes him his cup.

"Thanks." He says, holding it close to his chest and allowing the steam to warm his cheeks; after a minute he moves the cup upwards as if to drink it, the movement halted suddenly as he glances into his cup. "Uh, did you put milk and sugar in this?"

It's her turn to get mildly offended, a scoff leaving her lips. "You don't put milk and sugar in tea, it ruins it."

She thinks he's going to argue with her; his ears redden slightly but to her surprise he simply nods, taking a sip of the scalding water. Then all at once his features pucker. "That's disgusting." He coughs.

 _Ugh._

She rolls her eyes. "You're an idiot." She says to the window; her stomach, which has been twisting and untwisting this entire time, seems to have dropped somewhere about her knees. She feels oddly disappointed and relieved, as if his actually liking the tea she gave him would somehow prove something unpleasant. She's just about to turn and stalk off when he takes another sip, still looking disgusted.

"You don't have to drink it if you don't like it, Wally." She huffs, wishing she hadn't even bothered with preparing him a cup in the first place.

He takes another, much larger sip, as if trying to finish it as quickly as possible. "No, it's fine." The disgusted and puckered expression is back.

Her cheeks have gone red and she actually reaches out, trying to grab the cup from him. "Christ, Wally—" He's too fast for her as always, tilting the cup back until all the scalding water is in his mouth, no doubt burning him. "Why do you always have to—"

He swallows thickly, his eyes watering. "Oh God, do I have to eat the leaves too?" He looks ridiculous, his whole face red from the heat of the water, his eyes streaming and his nose sniffling as he looks almost horrified at the dregs in the bottom of his cup.

She can't help herself—she's a little embarrassed and he looks so idiotic that she actually laughs, a short and throaty chuckle that sounds almost alien to her ears. In a half attempt at hiding it she presses her hand against her lips, not moving it until she's sure she can contain it. "No, Idiot. Don't eat the leaves."

He looks relieved, watching her as she forces herself to tame her smile. Outside the remaining leaves on a nearby tree are being stripped, fluttering through the wind only to be pounded towards the ground by the rain. "Remind me never to accept anything you cook ever again."

"Remind me not to make you anything every again."

"Deal."

She takes her time finishing her tea, occasionally listening as he tells her various facts about thunderstorms. He really is smart when he's not too bust acting like an idiot, and she likes it when he stops himself from speaking to listen to the roll of thunder or watch the crack of lighting on the horizon. She supposes they're friends.

 _Even if he is mercilessly annoying._

* * *

"We need to confirm what we already believe; I suggest we spread out and check for any signs of adult activity. Robin, Zatanna and myself will remain at The Cave and attempt to contact senior Justice League members. The rest of you should gather orphaned children and ensure their safety." With that Kaldur nods them off, promptly turning his back on them and stalking off towards the computer.

She turns to look beside her at the rest of the team, frowning slightly as she locks eyes with M'gann. "Where are you headed?" She asks.

A line appears between the Martian's brows, her teeth sinking into her lower lips. "I think Connor and I should start setting up refuge points around the city. We already know the people we care about are…" She trails off, looking worried.

She can feel Wally shift beside her, his elbow knocking against hers. "I want to go look in on Uncle Barry and Aunt Iris." He says fiercely. "... My parents too." He glances at her, his lips somewhat taught. "What about you?"

She hesitates, so much so that in the few seconds she remains silent she attracts a few raised brows. "Yes. Mom, of course."

Everyone around her looks anxious, worried half to death and she's… She's numb. Unfeeling. All she can think of is the moment it occurred to her that her father and sister were gone and the _disgusting_ sense of relief she felt. There was nobody left to hide. Nobody to run from. Lawrence was dead, and so was Jade and she was finally, finally free of their burden, so cold and hardened now that the possibility of Paula's death simply chalked up to a sacrifice that was necessary.

 _Selfish._

 _Pathetic._

 _Cold._

They've been arguing about using uniforms for the past minute, and she pulls herself back into the conversation just in time to realize all she'll be needing is the leather jacket sitting on her shoulders. "It's settled then." Connor says, his thumbs pressing against his hips and glaring around at them all. "M'gann and I will start searching for stranded children and setting up a rally point in the high school gym. You two," He sends a pointed look between her and Wally. "Should try to keep your visits short, got it? We'll meet back here in an hour."

They're barely out of ear shot before Wally turns to her, trying to adopt a smile that seems more nervous than usual. "Alright Blondie. Your place or mine?"

She wrinkles her nose slightly, glaring at his innuendo. "Easy, Kid. Come on, your parent's place is closest."

The corners of his mouth twitch downward, his hand reaching up to press nervously against the back of his neck. "Uh, no." Something shifts in his face, something she can't quite read. "Let's do your place first."

It occurs to her that maybe he's afraid for his parents, for his aunt and uncle. Maybe he can't handle going home and realizing that he is, truly, alone.

 _That wasn't a problem for her, was it?_

 _Disgusting._

She doesn't wait for him to express this sentiment—she's never been one for talking about these kind of things—and instead tugs his sleeve, leading him towards the zeta tube and resigning to take the bullet for him. "Never mind. We'll go see my Mom first." She says gruffly, but she still tries to arrange her features into a somewhat encouraging smile as she programs the coordinates to her neighborhood.

He blinks slightly as they rematerialize into Gotham City; the snow from a few days ago has turns into grey slush on the sides of the road, leaving both the ground and skyline with the appearance of being covered in a thick layer of smog. She can tell he's trying not to be surprised by her neighborhood—he's seen her in her uniform after school, he probably assumed she lived closer to The Academy.

They've taken about a half step outside of the alley way they materialized in when an eerie feeling overcomes her; she actually reaches out and grabs Wally's arm to stop him, an overwhelming sense of anticipation creeping over her skin. She doesn't know what she's waiting for until he shifts his feet nervously beside her and she can actually hear the rubber of his sneakers squeaking against the pavement.

Gotham is silent. No sirens, no car alarms sounding, no window panes being shattered by the usual thugs, not even cars driving too quickly on the road. Just the sound of a city someone has completely muted. A cool breeze passes over her skin.

Wally's looking at her strangely and she realizes that he doesn't know what she's listening for; she quickly drops her hand, trying not to look too grim. "I've never heard this place be so quiet. Maybe…" She hesitates, and odd bubble of worry sounding in her stomach as she turns to him, looking uneasily around the street. "Maybe we'd be better off going to check your place."

"Don't you want to check on your mom though?"

The way he asks it is borderline accusatory, despite the fact that he's not brave enough to go and check his place either. _What an idiot_. When she doesn't immediately reply he nudges her slightly. "Come on. We're already here."

She wonders if he's still scared of finding out the fate of his own family, a feeling that probably isn't helped by the fact that he's obviously uncomfortable in her neighborhood. For a kid with superpowers he's acting slightly skittish, walking so close to her on the sidewalk that on more than one occasion his foot catches the heel of her boots; every once in a while she catches him craning his neck to glance down darkened alleys, his teeth worrying his lower lip.

She's just gotten her boot back on properly for the third time when she sends him an annoyed look. "You can calm down, Wally. All the kids that live around here are probably still in school or running wild around it, pretty far out of the district. There's nobody here to do anything to us."

"I'm not scared." He snorts, but she still feels his arm brushing hers as they round the corner to her apartment despite the fact that there's plenty of room on the sidewalk for both of them. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe I'm just watching your back?"

It's her turn to snort as she reaches out to shove him to his place on the other side of the pavement. "Watching _my_ back?" She repeats, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, because after growing up here I haven't learnt how to do that myself."

She huffs herself into silence, noticing as she does so that Wally's eyes are lingering on her. He's wearing an odd sort of expression, a mixture between embarrassment and curiosity. "No offense…" He begins, hesitating slightly. "But… I really can't imagine what being a kid around here would be like."

They've just reached the front steps of her building; as if to prove a point the complex is looking extra shabby, a few pieces of the exterior crumbling as they climb the front steps. He's not trying to be rude and she knows it, as well as she knows that he's right for thinking what he thinks. She can't keep the bitterness out of her voice as she fumbles with her keys, searching for the big brass number that unlocks the front door to the lobby.

"I'm sure for some people it's okay." She says honestly, because a part of her really does believe that if her parents weren't the people they were and if they had just been a normal family in this part of town maybe things would have been better. "But to be honest my childhood wasn't really a childhood anyway."

 _But they're all gone now, just like she always wanted. Right?_

She nearly bites her tongue when she says it, because she doesn't want to give him the invitation to pry, but it occurs to her that he's about to enter her building—and by extension her home. She supposes it's a common courtesy to let him know what he's walking into, even at a minimal level. Besides, she's beginning to think she can trust him.

She's had her hand on the handle for about ten seconds now, her hesitation not going unnoticed; she tries not to stiffen as he places a hand on her shoulder, warm even through her jacket. "Artemis?"

"Listen," She blinks, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment and opening them quickly in hopes of pulling herself together. She can feel him right behind her, a breath from his nose ruffling the hair by her ear. "My family and I don't have the best relationship, okay? And… And I don't know what I'm about to walk into. Can you just—whatever happens—can you just not be an idiot about this?"

She loses her nerve in the middle of her last sentence, not quite saying what she means to say—she just wants him to be her friend, to not make assumptions or judgements about her or her home or her family—but he seems to understand. She can feel his fingers tighten over her jacket.

"Sure."

* * *

She opens the door and the smell of ancient cigarettes immediately hits her; the lights are dim and somewhere in the depths of the apartment one of her mother's old tapes is playing, sending the soft notes of Vietnamese music echoing between the walls. The whole thing is undeniably creepy and she suddenly wishes she had thought to bring her bow with her.

She takes a half step inside, aware as she does so that her muscles are beginning to tense, her posture becoming more cat like as she adopts at defensive pose. The smell of burning hits her nose and she holds out a hand to stop Wally, who's been peering around the door frame curiously. "Wait here." She says quietly.

He snorts back. "As if."

She doesn't have time to argue with him; the further she ventures into the apartment the stronger the burning smell is becoming. She doesn't have much thought to spare for anything other than finding or not finding Paula as quickly as she can, hoping to get in an out with enough time for Wally to make his visits too. She doesn't look back despite the fact that he's following her warily with his eyes straying to blank walls and the obviously worn in furniture: it won't be long before he realizes the fact that she is living in borderline poverty. She leaves him standing awkwardly in the hallway.

She beelines for the bedrooms, barely checking hers and nearly kicking open her mother's. It's here than she finds the tape player, still blasting the careful ministrations of lute strings being plucked by fingers in another country. There's no sign of Paula anywhere, no indication that she had even been in the apartment other than the music.

She's just begun going over the possible places her mother could have gone besides the apartment—work, grocery store, maybe they were out of milk—when she remembers the burning smell; turning on her heel she bolts back towards the kitchen, nearly knocking over Wally who's been lurking in the hallway and trying not to wrinkle his nose at the cigarette smell.

The kitchen is slightly smoking when she gets to it, but at least it's obvious Paula has been there; a pot on the stove is bubbling over despite the fact that it contains next to no water, what she can only assume is rice or potatoes or some sort of starch has been reduced to inflated and bubbling mush that's spilling over the edges and sticking to the burner. She can hear Wally cough behind her as she turns off the burner, waving her hand slightly in an attempt to clear away some of the smog.

"I don't think your mom is here." He says quietly. She feels nothing and she hates it.

She doesn't respond immediately, instead grabbing a dish towel off the stove hook and fanning rather pointlessly at the air around her. She's feeling exactly how she dreaded she would, with so little emotion running through her and her heart pounding with a dull acceptance against her ribs. She's her father's daughter, all right.

She can feel Wally watching her, can see in her mind's eye the few steps he nervously takes towards her. He's reading the tense muscles in her back incorrectly, almost as if he's waiting for her break down. "Whatever, it's fine." She begins to say, turning towards him.

Because it is fine, she is fine. Her mother is gone but so are Lawrence and Jade. She's accepted it—

She cuts herself off as her eyes land at the dining table. Paula's wheelchair is tipped on its side, empty.

It takes her half a second to comprehend what it means, what it really means, and all the coldness that's been inside her is sudden unthawed and raw and burning against the back of her throat.

She had thought their years apart had hardened her, had made her immune to the affection she had for her mother- but it's there, so much stronger than it is for her father and even Jade, who she still loves despite everything. Because her mother is gone, _her mother_ , the woman who braided her hair and sang her songs in Vietnamese is gone, and Artemis really is alone and afraid and not nearly as disgusting as she thinks she is.

She can feel the cool expression drop off her features, can feel her eyes widening and her lips opening slightly; it's worse, so much worse than just finding an empty apartment. Wally turns his head to follow her line of vision, the tips of his ginger hair moving almost too slowly as the blood in her body begins to speed up, the pounding in her ears so loud that she can barely hear him when he speaks. "Is that…?"

She nods her head, the movement making her feel slightly nauseous. Yes, her mother is in a wheelchair. Yes, her mother can't walk. And the absence of her mother and the presence of her wheelchair means only one thing: wherever Paula is she is vulnerable and defenseless and incapable of coming home of her own accord. The thought alone is making her knees quiver, all the feelings she's been disappointed in not experience are flooding through her and pooling like water in her lungs. She closes her eyes, holding her breath in a lame attempt at stopping the storm beginning to brew in her stomach.

"Artemis?" She must look worse to wear because Wally is grabbing at her arms, his palms pressing her biceps; she can feel her knees shaking. "Artemis, look at me."

She shakes her head, beginning to breathe hard and fast through her nose; the smell of burnt food and cigarettes and walnuts are flooding through her, the stove pressing painfully against her lower back. She's got a death grip on the dish towel, her hands clenched around it so tightly around it that her fingers are cramping and turning white.

 _...Paula Paula Paula Paula..._

One of his thumbs is pressing against the leather of her jacket, squeaking slightly as he moves it in a circle. "Hey." His voice is low and soothing but not entirely his own, almost as if he's mimicking one of his parents. "Look at me." He repeats. She opens her eyes, a little alarmed at the fact that they're quickly filling with tears. He's looking at her with a reassuring smile, the corners of his apple eyes crinkling slightly. His thumb is still working circles against her arm. "It's gonna be okay. We're gonna get her back, you know that, right?"

She nods because it feels like the right thing to do, dropping her gaze to the dish towel in her hands and hiccupping slightly. She's wishing he wasn't so close, wishing he would take a step back and leave her alone. It's embarrassing, losing control like this. She's supposed to be the level headed one; she was supposed to keep him together in the face of losing the people he loves the most, not the other way around. She can feel her cheeks going off as he squeezes her slightly, sending her a reassured smile.

"Come on." He nudges her forward, deliberately blocking the view of Paula's chair as he does so. "We'd better be getting back."

A fleck of ginger hair is brushing across his forehead when she glances back at him. "What about your place?" She asks him, resenting the fact that her voice is shaking.

He's quiet for a moment as they embark down the hall. "No time."

She can feel her stomach twist uncomfortably as he shuts the front door behind them, hesitating before she locks up behind them. "… Wally." She begins, not quite sure what to say. She knows there's no way an hour has passed, no way that she used up their precious time nearly crying in her kitchen. She removes the key from the lock and sends him a questioning look.

He doesn't quite meet her gaze. "I'll call home later."

* * *

Twenty minutes later she's watching him stand in between Dick and Kaldur, clad in his uniform, giving a speech to the nation's children. She's been instructed not to put on her own uniform but rather to remain in her civvies. Apparently she's too intimidating behind her mask.

She's just about to zeta out into the streets when she locks eyes with him.

He still hasn't checked in with home, and she's beginning to go through every conversation she's ever had with him in her mind, beginning to wonder about how often he mentions his Uncle Barry and how little he talks about his own family, the fact that he practically lives at the Cave starting to have more weight in her mind.

She wonders if she's the only one who felt slightly cold at the prospect of facing lost parents.

He's still looking at her, not bothering with the fact that he's on live television, and actually winks at her as if he's trying to cheer her up from before.

 _"_ _Call home._ " She mouths at him.

He stiffens and looks away.

* * *

 **AN: I always really hated the fact that they changed how Wally's home life was for the cartoon; the comic Kid Flash is super angsty about his relationship with his parents, especially his father.**

 **Anyway, please read and review and tell me what you think so I can keep the updates coming!**


	7. 6: Fizz

**AN: Lovely readers! Please enjoy the latest chapter and read the author's note at the bottom as we have some housekeeping to take care of.**

* * *

When she lays eyes on her mother a few hours later she doesn't stop the cry of relief from her lips.

Paula is sitting in her wheelchair, which is now upright and perched at the edge of the table. She's been reading Artemis' favorite book, _Alice in Wonderland_ , and fiddling with the pages the same way she does. Their reunion is how she imagined what her mother getting out of prison would be like: there's a lot of hands pressed against cheeks and palms smoothing hair; her mother cries but not in an unhappy way, and even though it hurts her knees Artemis allows Paula to tuck her into the crook of her arm, her head resting above the swell of her mother's breast and the corner of a wheel pressing against her calve. It occurs to her that in world filled with all the badness they've brought into it, they really only have each other.

Despite the revelation she still feels as if she's aged about a hundred years, and although her mother's touch is comforting it doesn't stop her from realizing its temporality. That night she doesn't sleep; Paula has insisted they share her bed again, and despite the fact that she's exhausted she can only think of Zatanna and what the loss of a parent really means.

The next morning she rises early and sets off for The Cave.

Zatanna's room still has the incredibly cold feeling she remembers being present in her bedroom when she first took up at The Cave; the walls are still blank and boxes are still piled up in uneven stacks, making everything on the whole feel not only dark and claustrophobic but also incredibly depressing. She asks several times if she wants help unpacking and each time Zatanna pretends not to hear her.

They don't talk very much; Zatanna's head is barely peeking out of the blankets on her bed, her back facing Artemis and her gaze fixed on a blank wall. She perches herself awkwardly at the younger girl's desk chair and spends most of the afternoon reading various books, occasionally reading interesting passages aloud to break the silence.

She's beginning to get hungry when four o'clock hits, and she's on the verge of sneaking out of the room with the intention of getting food for the two of them when Zatanna rolls over abruptly, looking at her accusingly. Her cheeks are blotchy and she feels a pang at being unaware of her crying. "God, Artemis." She says in a low annoyed tone, not at all like her usual drawl. "You're awful at this. Will you just come here?"

She flips back the blankets on her bed and sends her such a furious look that she's actually conned into rising from the desk chair, marking her book with a fold of a page and stalking towards the bed. She sits hesitantly on the corner of the mattress which only inspires another infuriated hiss from Zatanna, and before she can do anything she's being pulled beneath the covers.

It's unbearably hot beneath the blankets but Zatanna either doesn't notice or doesn't care; she's dragged Artemis closer than is strictly necessary, the two of them practically sharing a pillow. Zatanna rolls on her side to face her, ignoring the way she's suddenly stiffened, one of her sock clad feet touching hers. "This sucks." She says, a small wrinkle appearing between her eyes.

 _She's seen that look on her own face, remembers catching her reflection in the mirror when Jade left, remembers how she felt when her father left her with one final punch to the face, remembers the swift kick in her gut when she saw the empty wheel chair. It's awful and please, Zatanna, just stop looking like that..._

"Yeah." Is all she can think to say back; she's never been much good at comforting people. Zatanna shifts, placing an arm underneath the pillow.

"I just wish I had spent more time with him, you know?" The younger girl's voice breaks slightly. "I wish I hadn't been on him all the time about coming to The Cave. I should have just enjoyed the time I had with him."

She's too afraid to move lest she accidentally touch her, turning her head almost robotically until she can look Zatanna better in the eye. "Stop blaming yourself. Nobody plans on this kind of thing."

Zatanna lets out an embarrassing hiccup that they both ignore. "Do you have a Dad?" She asks.

She doesn't really know what to say and instead gets quiet for a few seconds, turning her head back and glaring at the ceiling. "Kind of." She says honestly.

She doesn't know what this means to Zatanna, who greets this information with a nod, her cheek pressing into her pillow. After a while she rolls over, going back to staring at the wall.

* * *

She's pulled out of a half sleep at about an hour later. At first she can't quite place what disturbed her; she's red faced and slightly sweaty, one of her ankles nearly numb between Zatanna's calves. The she hears it. The shift of a floor board outside the door. Low voices, maybe.

A knock.

The door creaks open without invitation, and for a moment she simply blinks into the light of the bedroom while her eyes adjust to being awake. Something moves towards her, the light catching on dark hair.

"Robin?" She whispers, not wanting to wake Zatanna. She knows she looks a little ridiculous, her hair mused and her cheeks red, her clothes sitting somewhat lopsided on her body.

There's a creak on the edge of the bed as the younger boy adopts his lookout, knees crossed as he settles against the wall. "Your shift is up." He grins, prodding her with his foot until she twists, trying to pull her ankle free. Zatanna stirs.

"Artemis?" Her voice is so fragile that it nearly breaks her heart to leave, fighting against sleepy hands as they struggle to find hers beneath the covers.

"Shh. I'm just going to get some food, okay? Robin's here." Now that she's so close to leaving the suffocating room she can barely stand it, her feet anxious to escape the pressing feeling of grief. Zatanna seems to perk up slightly, and as she leaves the room she can hear Robin's voice in the speaking in low, soothing tones.

* * *

She doesn't come back to The Cave after that, choosing to avoid it until she's forced to return for Wally's birthday. Zatanna's grief seems to consume parts of it whole, marking rooms with pointed silence so loud even she can't stand it. They all need the distraction of cake.

Something unknown and uncomfortable has been lurking in her stomach the past few days, forcing all her thoughts onto Wally. She's thankful for the excuse to look at him—he has a ridiculous green party hat affixed to his head that clashes horribly with his hair.

It's bothering her, the fact that he didn't actually go to his home to check on his parents; he had spared a phone call, that was it. She can't quite place why she's so fixed on it, just knows that it annoys her to see him smile and look so cheerful when she knows he's not entirely happy. It's a lie and she hates liars, even if she is one.

She can feel her eyes narrow slightly; he's still trying his luck with M'gann, making flirtatious comments at the Martian and hinting at a birthday kiss. He's an idiot, she decides, sipping her drink. In typical fashion he's oblivious to the fact that she's avoiding his eyes, beginning to look uncomfortable with his advances. Artemis' hand clenches slightly about her glass, smirking slightly as she makes up her mind. She's going to enjoy this.

She feels ridiculously like a large wild cat, her hips swinging slightly as she approaches the couch from behind. He's always so easy to sneak up on, his brows still waggling at M'gann, completely oblivious as she leans over the back of the couch.

"Nice hat, Wallman." She smirks, one hand reaching up to flick at the top of the point. He jumps slightly as the hat wobbles against his hair.

She's surprised at how quickly he looks round at her, his ears slightly red as he swats her pony off of him. "Nice face, Blondie." He snorts, his eyes bright and teasing as he reaches for a piece of cake.

She leans forward on her elbows, watching him eat a hearty bite of cake. "I have a birthday surprise for you." She says, a little surprised by the odd tone she's adopting.

 _Almost like she's flirting with him._

"Oh yeah? And what would that be?" He asks, glaring slightly as she reaches a finger forward, stealing a dribble of icing as it falls off the corner of his cake.

 _Okay, somebody spiked the punch. That's it..._

She slurps the icing off her finger, the corner of her mouth quirking upwards, slightly excited in the same way she always is when the opportunity to tease him arises. "M'gann and Conner are together." She says quietly, ignoring the affronted look he sends her and nodding pointedly at them. Wally turns back just in time to watch the Martian's dainty tongue reach out, licking stolen frosting from a thick and calloused fingertip in an almost erotic way. Beside her cheek Wally's ears burn so red hot that she can feel the heat on her face.

"...Oh, man." Is all he can get out, and suddenly he's slumping in on himself and looking like a deflated balloon.

She can feel her cheeks going red too, not quite sure how to react to his sudden disappointment. She had been expecting him to laugh it off, continue on as he always does—instead he's staring straight ahead, so upset he's not even eating his cake.

"Yeah." She says, not quite sure what she's agreeing to. He doesn't even notice when she reaches forward to steal another lick of icing.

* * *

It's a few hours later and they're suited up, and frankly she feels a little guilty. They're waiting in the debriefing room for their mission deploy and Wally's unusually standing back a few feet from the rest of the group. She wishes she can blame it all on missing the first big Justice League and Team fight in favor of delivering a live organ, but she knows better; she can see him shooting disappointed looks at M'gann from across the room. With a pang of guilt in her stomach she bites the bullet and approaches him.

"Well, Kid Idiot." She says easily, trying to keep her cool composure around him, an act that feels faker every time she dons it. "Looks like this is where we part ways."

He continues to look somewhat downcast, his fingers digging into the indents of his hips through the spandex of his suit. "Yeah. Some birthday."

He childishly scuffs the floor with his foot and she hates seeing him be anything other than his usual annoyingly chipper self. "Cheer up, Baywatch." Her fist bumps against his shoulder, much more gently than she has of late. "There'll still be some cake when we get home. Sweet sixteen isn't over yet."

"Yeah," Is all he says.

Someone is calling for her; it must be time for them to board The Bioship. She hesitates slightly, but doesn't stop herself from reaching out, her fingers barely touching his forearm. "Hey." She says gruffly, feeling slightly awkward as he glances down at her fingers. "I, uh. I won't be out there to watch your back. So don't do anything stupid."

At this the corners of his mouth quirk up slightly. "No promises, Blondie."

She turns on her heel and doesn't look back, not even when he yells out goodbye.

* * *

She's furious when Robin leans casually across the counter and conversationally tells her that Wally's in the hospital.

For a moment the words don't quite make an impact, as if someone is speaking them to her in another language. Then all at once she can feel bile rising in her throat, her head beginning to pound, an unfamiliar panic for him, _for Wally of all goddamn people_ , sounding somewhere deep inside her. For a moment all she sees is spots until she forces herself to pull the boy across from her into focus, breathing heavily through her nose.

"The hospital?" She repeats, her voice sounding distant. "Not the med bay?"

Robin looks up from his phone as if he can read her mind; a teammate in the hospital means a teammate beyond the help of The Cave. A teammate in the hospital means something serious. A teammate in the hospital means someone is _dying_ or close to. "Artemis—" He begins, but she's already turning on him, her footsteps echoing against the ground. "He's fine! He's been there for a couple hours already—Artemis! It's three in the morning!"

She doesn't care that she's still in her uniform; she doesn't care that her limbs feel heavy and that she has a long, still bleeding scratch running down the length of her cheek. She doesn't give a damn about the dirt or the blood or the sweat that's coating her skin, the scabs that crack with her every move. Something animalistic has taken over the logical portion of her brain, filling her up with some sort of unfound need: Wally. She _n_ _eeds him, needs him, needs him_.

The Zeta Tube sets her about a block away from the place the Justice League usually unloads its injured (she didn't even ask Robin where Wally is, _she's such a fucking idiot_ and what if she's wrong, _oh God_ ) and she's suddenly aware that it's snowing. Great, wet clumps of snow are pressing against the bare skin of her abdomen, weighing down her hair with dampness, but she can barely feel the shivers. She's numb; numb to everything she feels, from the stickiness of the air to the pounding of her feet against icy pavement. She's nothing but numbness and panic. She slides on unseen ice twice, opening up a scab on her knee, but she doesn't stop. She refuses.

 _Go, go, go, run fast like you always do..._

Breaking into the hospital is just like breaking into the school all those months ago and an adrenaline fueled part of her brain takes over planning, leaving no room for worry; snapping her bow into place she scours the perimeter, looking for entrance point—at last she finds a loading dock that seems mostly abandoned, and pulling an arrow from her quiver she marches on.

She's gotten good at guessing where security cameras are located, but the real challenge is being detected by hospital staff; there are far fewer here than during the day, she's sure, but the fact remains that human ears are much more sensitive than camera mics; there are a few times her feet catch on extension cords or her quiver bumps against unfamiliar walls. She still feels feral and raw, but some of the worry and desperation is fighting at her—she's becoming reckless, dangerous, and she prays no one crosses her path because she knows she won't hesitate to strike, not even the innocent.

 _She'll kill if she has to, and that's more terrifying that what's happened to Wally._

 _Please be here. Where are you, Baywatch...?_

She finds him after nearly 20 agonizing minutes of trying random doors, at last finding one with a clip board bearing the name FLASH, KID on the patient listing. The lights are on and there are machines whirring and beeping and although there's so much noise in the tiny room she remains silent, hovering in his doorway. It's suddenly occurring to her that there is a reason why he's at a real hospital, and that reason may not be pleasant to look at.

She takes a few steps forward, nervous, inhaling deeply and searching for the metallic scent of blood. All she smells is sterility; there is no trace of anything other than cleaning product, not even Wally's scent of walnuts has left an impression here. She hunts onward, approaching the edge of a curtain.

She hesitates before she pulls it open, but is glad when she finally does; he looks strangely lonely, lying still in the too-white bed. His hair is singed in places and he's covered in cuts and bruises that already look a few days old—that wonderful and unknown metabolism is doing its job. His skin is so pale in the fluorescent ceiling light that it almost looks translucent, each freckle on his face standing out so awfully that she can count them from where she's standing.

She compresses her bow and clips it to her belt, stowing her unused arrow back into its quiver. She's beginning to come back to herself, beginning to calm the raging animal inside her. The emotions are starting to come though, hard and fast and crashing against her; she feels like she's drowning. She's worried, terrified, and confused, _so, so confused_.

 _Get a grip._

She can feel her shoulders tensing, watching his chest rise and fall. She rushed down here for Wally. Stupid, obnoxious, annoying _Wally_. She had been so blinded by fear, afraid… She hadn't even properly asked Robin what had happened. She's beginning to feel stupid, but not just for coming here in the dead of the night; she realizes vaguely that she's gotten to close with the boy lying in the cot. She's opened herself up for vulnerability, and that is something she can't afford.

 _Isn't that what Dad always told her?_

 _She's never going to forget that lesson..._

She turns to leave, feeling stupid, when something stops her, her feet shifting anxiously on the floor. She can hear the machines whirring, can see the rise and fall of his chest and the relentless beep signaling his heart beat—but she knows why she came here. The machines aren't enough—they could be tampered with, falsified. She needs her own proof.

Keeping her back to him, she reaches her right hand to the arm resting atop the hospital sheets. His uniform is torn down the length of his forearm, and with a glance over her shoulder at him she slides her fingers inside. His skin feels hot to the touch as it always does, nearly feverish against her snow-dampened skin. She skims downwards, towards his wrist, tracing tendons the same way he did all those weeks ago in her bedroom. Then she feels it: a warm heartbeat, thumping against her fingers.

She hears herself exhale, and with the release of breath she realizes the last of the animal inside her is gone; she no longer feels desperate or terrified. He's fine. _Wally is fine_ , she repeats inside her head, the words bouncing along to the beat of his heart.

The sensation of complete and total stupidity is rushing back to her, and now that she's satisfied he's alright she's ready to leave. She moves to withdraw her hand from his when an uneven fingernail drags along his skin.

Instantly there's a groan behind her—she wouldn't have pegged him for a light sleeper, yet with a simple glance over her shoulder she can see his eyelids fluttering, eyes squinting and struggling to pull her into focus. Before he can gather his bearings she fully withdraws her hand, turning to face him with it clenched at her side.

"Artemis?" He croaks out, and the machine beside his bedside increases its beeping. The hand she's just touched reaches to wipe at his bleary eyes and stops short with a wince at his side. He looks battered and beaten and she doesn't want to look at him anymore.

She watches him blink a few times, in that time managing to compose herself. "Baywatch." She says back coolly. "... I thought I told you not to do anything stupid."

She feels her stomach wind tightly as his grimace shifts into a crooked grin, a surge of something warm and unknown rushing through her. "And I thought I said no promises." He quips back. For a moment she think that's that, the usual bickering and cool conversations; then suddenly his eyes narrow and the corners of his mouth fall. "What happened to you?"

Self-consciously she glances down at herself; the cut on her cheek is no longer bleeding but she can follow the red line it left as it dripped down her chin, mixing and mingling with the brown and red caking her uniform in the odd places her winter stealth tech didn't cover during the battle. There's a rip on her knee from where she fell on the ice, and she's soaking wet with a mixture of snow and sweat. She looks far from pretty, but still lets out an annoyed breath that flutters some of the hair hanging limply from her pony tail, catching on her lip.

"I just got back from the other mission, Kid Obvious." She snorts, one of her hands flying to her hip. "Sorry I didn't have time to put my make-up on."

"You smell awful." He says cheekily, the frown gone from his face and being replaced with another grin. She huffs, frustrated with the fact that even when he's bedridden she can't keep up with his change of pace.

For something to do other than stare at him awkwardly she pursues the medical chart at the end of his bed, pretending to read but really feeling stupid. She shouldn't have bothered with checking for a pulse—she had seen his chest rising and falling, seen the machines glowing and beeping. What further proof had she needed? Now she's stuck with an idiot and no exit point. _Great._

Wally is still eyeing her from his spot on the pillows. "What time is it?" He asks conversationally, and she can tell he's trying to bait her into looking him in the eye.

"Around 3 am." She blurts out before she can stop herself. She doesn't have to look at him to know he looks surprised.

"… Wait." She can hear the grin in his voice, her cheeks picking this moment to ignite a fiery red. "So you're telling me you dropped everything, disregarded sleep and an _obviously_ much needed shower, broke into a hospital, dodged security and staff… Just to see me?"

She glares at the chart for a moment before setting it roughly back into place, turning for the door. "I'm leaving."

"Artemis." She's not even moving yet and his voice has already stopped her in her tracks; he's no longer teasing, and when she gets the courage to look him in the face he looks softer, more curious. "… Why?"

Her hands clench. She's supposed to be avoiding this, this whole… getting attached thing. She can sense it's happening to both of them, everything between them getting caught in a flurry of something much bigger and unsaid. She pauses.

"I don't know." It takes her a minutes of staring at his feet under the blankets before she can figure out the best way to word it. "Remember after the exercise?"

The air shifts and suddenly there's something tense between them; a quick glance away from his toes reveals him scowling. "Yeah." He says stiffly.

She doesn't like the look on his face but presses on, hoping that whatever she says next is of some comfort. "It's like… I just needed to see that you were alive and okay with my own eyes. Like it would… validate something." Some of the tension is gone from his shoulders but he's still avoiding her eyes, picking at a loose thread on his blanket. She wishes he would say something. "… You know… You've never told me why you came to me that night. I mean, what happened after—"

His jaw suddenly sets and his fingers snap the thread. "Don't go there, Artemis."

She glares. "But you've—"

"I said don't go there."

They're back to glaring at each other again, but there's something in the taught lines of his face that warns her to not push him; besides, she figures he's been through enough today. "Fine." She sighs, leaning against the cool metal of the hospital bed frame. "Now, are you going to tell me how you ended up like this? Or is that a secret too?"

* * *

She wakes up on the couch in The Cave, the sound of some unknown action movie booming from the speakers of the TV and filling the whole room. She shifts slightly, the corner of a long abandoned book jutting into her shoulder as she rolls onto her side, wishing for more sleep.

Now that she's awake she can hear a scuffle in the kitchen; the sound of drawers being opened and cutlery rattling combined with the television is so loud that she can't imagine how she was sleeping through it before. She sighs, wishing instead for silence and for someone else to turn the television off for her.

There's a jostle on the edge of the couch and she nearly leaps out of her own skin; sitting up so suddenly that she can feel the muscles in her neck spasm, she glares. "Wally?"

Her voice sounds like a mixture of furious and exhausted but he pays it no mind; in fact, he doesn't even look at her, instead glaring at the numerous bags of chips he's deposited on the table, one giant liter of pop still fizzing in the bottle. "What are we watching?" He asks. He doesn't sound like himself; his voice is so much harder than she's used to, his ears red and his jaw set. She simply watches for a moment as starts attacking a bag of chips, crunching each one so hard that his teeth audibly grind.

She hesitates, blinking through the array of baby hairs that have come loose from her pony tail. She can tell something is bothering him, if not by his demeanor then by the fact that it's past midnight, far too late to be considered his usual haunting hours. Just when she's considering asking him what's wrong he takes a hearty swig of pop, some of it leaking down his chin and dripping onto the couch. He looks murderous, slamming the pop down so hard onto the table that it nearly fizzes over. "God, Artemis. Will you just fucking answer me?"

At once she stiffens; she's heard Wally swear before, but never at her. She pulls her lips back into a snarl, hissing at him through her teeth. "How about we cut the attitude, Baywatch?"

He turns to glare at her, and for a moment they just scowl at each other and she actually wants to launch a full scale assault of swears and nails against his face. She can feel his eyes tracing the curve of her cheekbones with disgust, his jaw still set as he takes in her appearance: mused hair, twisted sweat shirt, sweats. She seriously considers kicking him, and just when she's about to attack his expression cracks.

"I'm sorry." Is the first thing he says, his palms abandoning the chips and pressing angrily against his eyes. She's a little stunned by the sudden turn in events, more than surprised to hear the discontented sigh he releases. He flings himself backwards, slumping against the couch and blinking rapidly.

She watches him rub his palms against his eyes for a few minutes, not quite sure what to say. He seems to know what she's thinking and decides to save her the trouble. "...My Dad is a real asshole." He sighs, one hand breaking free to run through his hair. "We don't really get along. And tonight... He's just freaking out over what happened on my birthday. Wants me to quit the Team for a bit."

"Ah." She says, still a little alarmed that he's even telling her this and even more so that she hasn't reeled him out yet for his rudeness.

"Can we just—" He stops a little short, his voice breaking and she hopes to God that he's not about to cry or something else stupid. "Can we just watch some movies and not talk about it?"

She an expert at not talking about it, and in response she reaches for the discarded remote, having to feel around for a second to find it in the tangled blanket she's donning. Wally sends her a thankful smile as she turns up the volume, already returning to the chips.

* * *

Wally snores.

She knows this because she wakes up a few hours later to the sound of it. At first it takes a moment to place the noise—she's always a little disoriented when she first wakes up, a fact not helped given that she's twisted in her sleep, her cheek pressed against the cushion of the couch and hidden from everything by a well placed pillow. A little clumsily she rolls onto her back, spitting the end of her pony tail out of her mouth.

The only light in the room is coming from the television, which is now blaring some sort of infomercial. In the light of a number that flashes across the screen she can see him—his head tilted against the back of the couch, his Adam's apple bobbling as he snorts in his sleep. He look a little ridiculous, one hand still thrust into the chip bag that's on his lap.

 _Typical_.

"Wally." She whispers, her voice breaking slightly from sleep. When he doesn't stir she prods him gently with her foot, frowning slightly as he shifts, moving his elbow to block her toes as they press against his side. She prods him again, slightly harder. "Wally!"

This time her toe finds a rib, the sharp jab waking him; at once his snores stop, only to be replaced with an annoyed mutter that's too low for her to hear. She watches as he fidgets slightly, his hand grabbing her ankle. "What?" He whispers.

His hand feels warm against the skin of her foot; she can feel her cheeks reddening as he replaces it in his lap, his free hand rubbing sleepily at his eyes. She's still not quite used to him, and she has a feeling that she'll never be able to keep up with him; he's acting as if there's nothing more natural than for the two of them to be asleep on the couch together, as if it's not unusual for his hand to be wrapped around her ankle, his thumb pressing nicely against her Achilles tendon. It's all too intimate too fast, and as if to enforce this fact she twists herself again, her other foot resume her prodding. "You were snoring." She says.

He yawns and sends her an annoyed look, adjusting his posture until he's pressed lower into the back of the couch. "Yeah, well. I was asleep."

His thumb adjusts itself and now he's absently rubbing the bone of her ankle; or at least he is until she rips her foot from his grasp, curling her feet as close as she can get them to her body. "Well… Don't."

He sighs; the television is flashing the phone number again, making his face light up a dozen different colors. "Whatever. I'm going to bed." He stands and stretches, lifting his arms so high above his head and pulling all his muscles taught. The movement sends her stomach twisting, watching the fabric of his sweater stretch with him, pulling tight across his shoulders.

He jostles his arms once, as if to fight off an invisible shudder then abruptly turns back to her, one hand held out in an offer. "Well?" He asks, shaking his fingers slightly. "Or is the couch too comfortable?"

For a half second she simply blinks. It occurs to that she's not the same person she was a few months ago, no longer the girl who once sneered at the boy across from her for having the audacity to strut around the cave with an unmasked face and sunscreen smeared on his nose. He's gotten to her, as he's been threatening to do for months now. They're friends; she's placed her life in his hands, let him carry her across unknown deserts, let him into her bedroom in the middle of the night and allowed him to get closer to her than she knows is safe.

 _But maybe it is safe_ , she thinks. Maybe she's done her running, maybe she's pounded her heels into the pavement for so long and for so hard that she's past what she's desperately been wanting to leave behind; maybe it's finally time for her to slow down.

She slips her palm into his, registering that it feels almost exactly the way it did in Bialya when she held it: still warm, still unexpectedly soft. She can feel the lines of his palms against hers, the edge of his nail catching the webbing of her thumb as he pulls her upright. He smiles tiredly at her and she thinks that he lets go of her way too soon.

 _She's in too deep._

They're quiet as they walk down the hallway; already she can hear the early morning stirrings of other members of The Team, beginnings of half-asleep mutterings sounding through the walls. They stop somewhat awkwardly into front of her door and she watches as he runs a hand through his hair, musing the ginger ends until they stand stick straight as if he's been running.

"Well… Goodnight." She says.

"Good morning, technically." He corrects her.

She watches for a moment as his hand moves to rub at the back of his neck, not quite sure how to proceed. The air feels oddly heavy between them, as if they're both waiting for something; she's wondering how to say goodnight, wondering how to get from this moment to the moment she shuts the door behind her. In a slightly awkward fashion she reaches up, punching him a little harder than she should in the shoulder.

"Fine. Good morning, Wally." She snorts slightly, rolling her eyes and sending him a slightly affectionate smile.

She can't help but feel this was the wrong course of action but Wally looks pleased; despite the tired look on his face his lips split into a grin. "Morning, Artemis." He agrees, nodding at her as she slips behind her door.

She's just about got the door closed when she catches his eye, apple green and looking her dead in the face. She can just see the angle of his jaw, tilted downward and sharp against the muscles of his neck, the look on his face different than any other look he's sent her. It reminds her of his broken arm and forgotten moments on the battle field, where unspoken things would pass between them so quickly there wasn't time for action. But now it's just the two of them, alone in the dark.

 _They've been alone in the dark before, remember how he felt for her pulse and sought comfort in her, not M'gann, not Dick, but her... Remember how she had thought he was going to kiss her, remember how she remembered that moment and remember how the easily she had slipped into that day dream where he did kiss her, remember that-_

Her stomach twists and a pool of warmth she wasn't aware of moves between her legs; she has a sudden impulse to reach for him, to pull him back and live in the moment a little while longer. Mercifully, the door clicks shut.

It takes her a few minutes to release the door knob, her palms suddenly sweating and her heart hammering against her ribs. That did not just happen. She didn't feel… _that…_ for Wally West.

As she thinks his name she can smell walnuts and the desert. Her stomach twists again.

She stands beside the door for a long time, thinking and waiting, her heart still racing. It takes far too long before she hears footsteps on the other side, signaling that Wally is finally returning to his room.

* * *

 **AN: Alright, some house keeping!**

 **First thing's first, I'll be away from a computer and an internet connection for the first weekend of August, which means that I'll be updating a little quicker than usual in an effort to tide you guys over while I'm gone. That means expect another update this week before Friday and another one after the long weekend.**

 **Second: I'm beginning to get my knickers in a twist about this story, especially given the fact that we're about half way through now. I'm really enjoying writing for you guys so naturally the idea of sequels is beginning to pop into my mind SO: I have a few ideas of my own, but if you all have any ideas for sequels/prequels/complimentary pieces PLEASE let me know. I've already started writing something else and set up a rough time line the same way I did in the early stages of this piece, but I would love to hear from you as well.**

 **As always, please read and review and give me feed back, it makes me update quicker when I know I have readers!**


	8. 7: Family Affair

**AN: Last update before my trip! I hope you all are appreciating that I've snuck off during work to upload this for you.**

* * *

"… So that's why you're calling me? To tell me you have a crush on Wally?"

As Zatanna says it she missteps; the toe of her shoes colliding painfully with the edge of the step and halting her stride. She lets a hiss of breath out between her teeth, half from the pain and half from the ridiculousness of what she just heard. "I don't have a crush on Wally."

Something shifts through the line, as if Zatanna is pinching the phone between her cheek and her shoulder. "Please. Let's review the symptoms shall we?"

"I'd rather not."

"Fine. So he walks you back to your room. Then what?"

She's started climbing up the stairs of her apartment again, keeping her eyes fixed on her feet and trying to avoid another blow to her toes. "What do you mean what?" There's a silence in which she can practically hear Zatanna rolling her eyes. "I mean, we said goodnight—well, I said goodnight and he said good morning."

She can hear Zatanna sighing. "You're not giving me anything here. How did you say goodnight?"

"… I punched him." An awkward pause as she gets to her landing, her toes mercifully spared any more run in's with the apartment stairs. "In the shoulder, to be fair."

"God, Artemis, you're so—" Whatever she is she doesn't hear; the phone speaker is no longer pressed against her ear.

Her front door is open.

She can still hear Zatanna babbling at her, and instantly she snaps her phone shut—instinct is telling her to keep quiet. Her front door being open is wrong; even when they were all living there together she never once saw it like that, open and almost inviting to those passing by.

Now that she's thinking of it, she hasn't encountered another person since she entered the building—it's a Tuesday around dinner time, the place should be bustling with people getting home from work or preparing to work the night shift. She debates with herself for a moment. She doesn't have her bow. She's not dressed for fighting either; she's still clad in her school uniform, one of her socks beginning to wrinkle around her ankle as it always does.

She debates running, a debate that doesn't last very long. She doesn't know what's lurking inside her apartment but knows well enough that there's a good chance it's more than any random civilian could stand to handle. She lets a breath out of her nose, shifting her posture slightly so she's sturdier on her feet. Then she charges onward.

If it weren't for the door being open she almost wouldn't suspect anything of being wrong. The usual dim lighting is flickering through the hall, her mother's Vietnamese music playing softly from her bedroom, the music she likes to play when she's relaxed or about to take a nap. Everything seems normal, calm, like any other typical evening. Then she smells cigarettes.

It's not the stale smell that's soaked into the carpet so thickly that she can't scrub it out; it's the stink she associates with her father yelling and the sound of ice clinking against glass. She remembers watching him measure the tobacco and roll the paper and lick the seal shut; remembers the temporary relief each cigarette left him with as he ran it under his nose and inhaled, striking a match against the kitchen table and blowing smoke in her mother's face. She remembers how he'd put it out on the glass container on the window sill, always threatening to extinguish it on their skin but never quite having the nerve to. It's the smell of her own fear.

The further she creeps into the house the more she can smell it; the slightly acidic flavor against the rich smell of old wood. The smell alone is sending her heart pounding, blood hitting her temples so hard that she's beginning to get a headache. She wants it out, out of her house; she's tired of him and his smell and the memories they both drag up whenever she encounters them. She pauses in the kitchen, risking a glance down the hall and imagines she sees smoke leak out from under the door. She doesn't have time to grab anything other than a discarded fork left lying on the counter.

She hesitates outside it, listening. It's eerily quiet except for the sound of fingers plucking strings, the beginning of a crescendo beginning to sound out of the cassette player her mother is still holding onto. The tape has been played so many times it's beginning to catch in a few places, the notes she's heard so often beginning to become warbled. She wonders what they'll do when the tape finally breaks; she clenches her fist tightly around the fork, her other hand reaching up to twist the door knob in a way she knows won't make a sound.

 _Get out of my house. Get out of my family..._

She has a half second to see what's in front of her when the door opens: Paula, in bed, possible unconscious or maybe just asleep. Lawrence, without a mask and with a cigarette between his lips, standing by the window. The latter snaps his head up despite her lack of sound and it is him who she aims for, twisting the fork like a knife in her hands and throwing it at him.

She misses, her fork wedging itself in the window frame; uncharacteristically he looks startled to see her attacking him. She'll be the first to admit that the scene is odd; despite the snarl that's now bursting on his features she can still see his face in her mind's eye: his head bent solemnly, watching her mother. No, not watching her. Pining for her. Missing her. Still loving her.

Lawrence lets out a snarl but oddly doesn't pursue her; instead he's flipped backwards out the window, already lost from view when she rushes over to follow. She can hear her mother stirring, old reflexes having become numb over the years and no longer sharp enough to jolt her awake quick enough.

"Artemis?" She says blearily, her hands pressing her wild ebony hair back from her face. "Artemis, what are you doing?"

She's still breathing heavily, the smell of cigarettes forcing bile to rise in her throat. She doesn't want to worry her mother, doesn't want her to know that they aren't safe, they'll never be safe, not when Lawrence is still alive and she should have killed him, _dammit, why did she miss._ "… Nothing, Mom. I thought I saw something. Go back to sleep."

Paula mutters something she doesn't understand as she pries the fork as quietly as she can out of the window frame, hoping the mark she left is too high up for Paula to notice.

* * *

She's back in Black Canary's too plush office, the backs of her thighs pressing uncomfortably into an over filled chair. It feels as if she's being pulled under, the stuffing threatening to burst forward and choke her. She keeps her elbows braced on her knees, her eyes locked on the toes of her boots and ignoring the look she's getting.

"So what did you do after Sports Master left?" Canary prompts. She blinks at her shoes.

"… I made tea."

She can hear the older woman's tongue click disapprovingly. "You made tea." She repeats, almost disbelievingly. "You just saw your felon of a father standing menacingly over your mother… And you made tea."

"Well, I closed the front door too." She jerks her head up when she's met with a thick silence, scowling slightly. "I already told you," She narrows her eyes. "There wasn't anything menacing about it. He was just… there. Watching her. He only became violent when I attacked, what if I hadn't even—" She stops herself short. She can see Canary's eyes focusing sharply on what she's saying, as if it's of some importance. She grits her teeth. "... Yes, I made tea."

"That's an odd reaction to have, Artemis." Black Canary says gently, crossing one knee over the other. She seems to be waiting for her to go on, but she's done analyzing her immediate reaction—she knows why she made the tea. She wanted something to calm, to soothe, to clear her head. And most of all she wanted something warm and fragrant to block out the smell of cigarettes. "Then what did you do?"

She sighs. "You know what I did."

"I know. But I want to be walked through the process from your perspective."

She goes back to scowling at her hands. Her knuckles had been beginning to heal from the damage caused a few weeks ago but now she's clawed another scratch along her cuticle, leaving a deep red gash of too-new skin exposed to the air, stinging. "I called Oliver."

"Green Arrow. Do you know why you called him?"

She glares harder at the jagged edge of her finger nail. "Look, I didn't come here for a therapy session. I came here because Oliver—"

"Green Arrow—"

"—told me that if I wanted to get League protection for my mother, it would be best to start with you. He told me you would understand."

Canary's eyes narrow; the look she's receiving now is stern, but not unkind. "I'm trying to, Artemis, but I need to know the whole story here. Before we can decide how to treat this incident I need to know more about it. Now tell me—why did you call Green Arrow?"

She hesitates. "I don't know. I just couldn't think of anyone else to call."

"Don't lie to me Artemis." Black Canary shifts her weight slightly, propping an elbow up to support her. "I'm wondering why it didn't occur to you to call your own Team. They're your closest friends—we even saw a call to Zatanna just before the incident in your call history."

She nips at her bottom lip, glancing up at the older woman. "I don't know." She can hear the clock ticking on the wall. She's been here nearly an hour. "I just thought—if anyone could help…"

Something changes in Canary's face, the tightness of her cheekbones loosening. She think she can see the beginnings of crow's feet around her eyes. "… Let's go back to seeing your father in your home. That must have been hard."

She shrugs. "He used to sulk around a lot more before Mom got out of prison."

"But he stopped when she got out?"

"… Yeah. He said I was getting to old for a baby sitter."

"Did it bother you to see them both together?"

She makes the mistake of leaning back in the chair; at once the change in weight causes the stuffing to shift, forcing her to sink further into the cushions. "Kind of."

"You're going to have to answer better than that."

She grinds her teeth, crossing her arms tightly against her chest. "Yes."

"Why?"

She hesitates. She's wasted enough time here; she's left Paula at home for far too long and she needs to get back to keep watch. She can practically feel her insides squirming against it, the words she knows she'll have to say to get what she needs. "… It just reminded me… that they really did love each other, you know? And—and it would be easy to dismiss them as two people who got together out of necessity who didn't really care for each other. But… I don't know. I could tell by the way he looked at her that he really did still love her. He just doesn't love me, that's the problem."

 _I'm always the problem._

She's glaring at a ceiling tile but she can tell that one of Canary's brows has shot up in surprise. "… So you still want to be part of that family? After everything?"

She shrugs. "No. I don't want anything to do with him. But it's like… He's part of a package deal. If I want to be Paula's daughter, I have to be his too. Not that I—I don't want to be his, I mean. Not in the way that I was before; like, I don't want to be killing people and getting in too deep into— I just want to be his if it means I get to be half hers, you know?"

She can hear the sound of pen on paper; Black Canary is taking notes. She closes her eyes and blocks out the sterility of the ceiling tile, hoping she's said enough to warrant some sort of action.

* * *

When she finally escapes the confines of Black Canary's counselling room it is with implicit instructions to take some time off. She has a feeling the older woman is being deliberately vague.

Like last time she's left the room feeling quite claustrophobic, every surface in the room is over stuffed to the point of stickiness— like she can't touch anything without being swallowed whole by it. This time she doesn't even make it outside though; only a hallway over she can feel her knees quivering, and in the dim light she leans against a wall, sliding her back downwards until she makes contact with the carpet.

 _It's her fault._ She's the reason her family fell apart—if she had just learned to follow orders, to be as ruthless as Jade, her parents would still be together… They would still be a family…

Instinctively she wraps her arms around her knees, lowering her head to rest against her forearms. She can still hear Black Canary's voice inside her head, still badgering her with attempts at counselling… _Green Arrow told you before joining The Team—he made it clear you needed to be able to trust your friends. You're entitled to a secret identity, Artemis, but how much longer is this going to go on_?

 _How much longer are you going to be an outsider?_

She presses her forehead tighter to her arms, trying to fight her breathing as it begins to get ahead of her, her lungs pumping oxygen through her so fast she can't properly process it. She doesn't need to talk, she needs action—she needs to get outside and run, needs to feel the blood in her veins and needs, needs to get home to Paula and watch over her, make sure she's okay— The wall is digging painfully into her back as she inhales and exhales, her spine still bending painfully and her legs twitching against muscles unwilling to let them move. She hates talking about feelings; every time she does it she feels like a floodgate about to be broken through. She knows she would be fine if she just kept herself sealed, just kept it to herself—

"Uh, rough day at the office?"

She sighs, keeping her face hidden in the folds of her arms and legs. She's picked a very public place to have a break down. "Go away, Wally." She says to her knees. Her breathing is still coming in shallow and she's very aware of the face that she sounds pathetic.

"I'll take that as a yes, then." She can hear his feet move against the carpet, unbelievably walking closer towards her. She sighs again, hoping he'll get the message to leave her alone; instead, she hears the sound of fabric rubbing against a smooth surface, the sudden warmth next to her signaling his closeness.

She lifts her head if only to press her palms against her face in frustration, rubbing back and forth against her skull until her hair is tousled and her eye make-up is smeared. "Look, I'm not in the mood for this right now." She says warningly, pressing the heel of her palms into her eyes so hard that she can see stars bursting in front of her eye lids. She breathes again, smelling walnuts and only half-hating that she's comforted by it.

She can feel the fabric of his shirt against her shoulder as he shrugs. "Okay." He says, but he doesn't get up and leave.

She lets out an annoyed hiss of breath through her teeth, throwing her head back so violently that it collides with the wall. "Wally." She hisses, screwing her eyes shut. She doesn't know what she's asking of him, only knows that she's not to be tested right now; she feels like water on the verge of boiling over, threatening to splash against the burner and hiss against the stove top.

She feels the edge of his knee knocking against her foot, warm even through the thickness of her boots. She glances up, a little skeptical in the face on his reassuring smile. "You can tell me stuff, you know." He says, nudging her again before he folds his hands neatly on his lap, looking at her expectantly. "We're friends."

She watches his legs as they stretch out in front of them, long and lean beneath his jeans. She has the distinct impression that he's saying this as a reminder to her that they can trust each other, and it startles her slightly at how well he knows her; knows her well enough to push her buttons and get her to unwind, even if only slightly. He tilts his head back until it touches the back wall, much more gently than hers did, looking at her. She sighs, knowing he won't back down until he has an answer.

"Black Canary says I need to take some time off from The Team." She knocks her knees together slightly, wondering if this is the best place to start. She has a feeling that it will be easier to explain if she works herself backwards.

Wally's brows purse, and more to avoid the confusion in his expression she turns back to glaring at the wall opposite. "Take some time off?" He repeats, and against her better judgement she glances back at him. It strikes her suddenly how handsome he is; he's grown up in the past couple weeks, looking much older than sixteen; she can see a new hardness in his jaw, new angles beginning to harshen with adulthood.

She swallows thickly. "Yeah."

"… Did she say why?"

She bites her tongue between her teeth, trying to word it in a way that won't inspire questions but will instead settle the matter. "… You know the other night? When you told me your Dad was an asshole?"

She can see the corners of his mouth flick upwards as she tilts her head back again, as if he's remembering the way he swore at her and about his father fondly. "Yeah."

She sighs. "My Dad is worse. Trust me."

He nods slowly, as if this somehow settles a matter between them. "Ah." Is all he says.

They both simply look at each other for a while, alone in the quiet of the hallway. She watches his eyes flicker to various parts of her face, and she gets the impression that he's trying to commit certain parts of her to memory—she can see his eyes tracing the lines of her cheeks, the arc of her brows, the wrinkles that are beginning to form at the corners of her eyes from scowling too much. It's the same look he sent her the other night, and it's having the same effect on her now as it did then: she can feel her stomach twisting, can feel the pool of warm excitement flooding between her legs. She wishes he would touch her.

Instead he remains a safe distance away. "I hope you're not gone too long." He says finally, at last looking away from her and staring at the scuffs on his shoes.

She tightens her grip around her knees. "Me too."

* * *

Black Canary bans her from The Cave for two weeks.

It's unbearable, borderline impossible for her to stay away. The first few days she finds her feet automatically taking her towards the Zeta Tube that will send her there, resulting in the frustrated squeaking of boots on pavement and such a sudden shift in direction that those around her have to jump out of the way, tongues clicking in an annoyed manner.

Wally calls her. She knows it's him because she flat out refused to put his number in her Team phone when she first got it, and nobody else would have the number. When it happens she stares at the digits for twenty seconds, feeling the vibration of the phone tickle her hand until, mercifully, the call goes to voicemail. He doesn't leave her one.

She spends her time practically stalking her mother, following her around the house like some sort of puppy, memorizing her schedule and skipping class for strategic walk-bys of her work to make sure she's where she should be. She goes on a frenzy of home security and asks the landlord to change the locks. He doesn't.

She can feel herself slipping into a state of madness that she hasn't been in for years, rivalling Jade's lunacy. The night before Thanksgiving she sneaks into her mother's bedroom and perches in the corner, standing guard. It occurs to her she's not doing well.

M'gann calls her Thanksgiving morning to ask if she'll be stopping by for dinner. "It's a different energy without you here." She says through the scratchy static of the speaker. "Very… melancholy."

"I have strict orders to stay away."

"… I know."

There's a few seconds of silence that seems almost unbearable between them and uncharacteristically she breaks it. "How was Quarac?"

"Fine." The Martian says, and it occurs to Artemis that there's something she doesn't know about. Before she can say anything M'gann interrupts. "When are you coming back?"

An odd feeling sounds in her stomach, and it occurs to her that she's being missed. She has the sudden urge to lace up her sneakers and run to The Cave herself; to run and keep going and not stop until she's back there, back with her real family.

 _The family she hasn't destroyed._

Instead she sighs into the phone, listening as Paula wheels herself down the hall. "Soon."

* * *

"Happy Thanksgiving, Mom."

Paula looks up from her book, looking almost surprised at the greeting. They don't really celebrate holidays, don't really suffer from tradition, but there's still something nice in the way her mother smiles, hands wrapping around the cup of tea she's offering. "Thank you, Artemis."

The November air is beginning to pick up outside, the beginnings of snow falling from the sky and pressing against the windowsill outside. The first real snow fall of winter is upon them, and she has a feeling it will stick this time.

She sits beside her mother on the couch, the squeaky wheelchair sitting abandoned in the corner. She likes nights like this best, likes having tea with her mother and watching her read her book, pretending nothing is buried between them. She can almost pretend they've always been happy.

Her mother looks up from her book to have a sip of tea, catching her eye. "Are you here to ask me what I'm thankful for?" There's a hint of teasing behind her voice, a tone she hasn't heard in years—and it occurs to her that maybe they are happy. In this moment, just the two of them; maybe that's all she's ever needed.

She snorts slightly, her breath disturbing the tea closest to the rim of her cup. "No—" She begins, looking back out the window.

Her eyes catch at the snow on the windowsill. It's been disturbed.

 _No._

Her mother is waiting for her to go on, the smile she's wearing slowly falling as she twists her torso, glancing between the window pane and her daughter. "Artemis?" Paula is out of practice, can't see what's wrong the way she can, isn't looking and waiting for the very thing she knows is about to come. "Artemis, what's—"

She smells sweet grass and liquor.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Mother."

She doesn't think, just jumps up and launches the steaming tea into the air. It's an imperfect shot; Jade's too fast and as usual she misses, the porcelain cup smashing against the opposite wall. She steps in front of her mother, her arms thrust wide in protection, breathing in the smell of her sister.

"Get out." She hisses.

Jade laughs, jostling the Cheshire mask slightly as she runs a leisurely hand through her hair, a few stray pieces of glass falling to the floor. "Now, now, Baby Girl. If I do recall this is my house too."

She hunches slightly, twisting her calves to get a better grip in the carpet. "I said, _get out._ "

Jade disregards this, dropping her jaw so as to better see between her outstretched hands, her eyes peering through the mask and glaring at Paula. "Relax, little girl. I'm here for Paula. Sportsmaster has a message he wants to give her."

"J-Jade?" Paula croaks slightly, sounding somehow both adoring and terrified. "A message? From your F-Father?" She can practically feel the grin stretching across her sister's face.

"I heard rumors you were out." She says quietly, her low tone sending a new wave of fear through her; she shifts slightly as Jade takes a step closer. "Our time apart has done each of us well, I think."

"Out, Jade." She winces slightly as her voice shakes. She doesn't have her bow—they'll have to fight hand to hand.

There's a terrifying moment in which the Cheshire mask turns to her, surreal and intimidating. For a second the cat eyes simply look at her, considering. "I'm in the middle of a reunion here, Baby Girl. Maybe it's you who should leave."

She tenses.

Jade strikes before she can get her bearings, one leg swinging up and catching her roughly in the shoulder. She is on the verge of getting her footing when her head is caught on the television, stars erupting in front of her eyes and her forehead colliding against a blurry screen.

"Come on Artemis. Is that really the best you can do?"

Paula is screaming and her ears are ringing, the room still spinning slightly as she gets to her feet. Jade won't hit her fatally, not yet—like a game of cat and mouse, she likes to play with her food before she eats it. It takes her a split second too long to decide on her plan of attack; Jade has already drawn a sai, the blade catching the low light of the room.

"Artemis!" Her mother, stranded on the couch, calls her name as Jade leaps at her again, and in the second her eyes meet Paula's she feels the sai at her side, the blade scratching her stomach and leaving a shallow cut, a small dribble of blood beginning to pool against her sweater. She catches a wrist as another blade flies at her throat, squeezing at the tendons and the pressure points until the sai falls to the floor. She thrashes against her sister, her fists flying at random body parts and her nails scratching at the side of her cheek, prying the mask off her face.

She's just ripped a chunk of Jade's hair from her scalp when she hears another blade being drawn; before she can catch herself she feels another slash at her wound, this time a little deeper and more ragged. She screams, feeling tears burning at her eyes as a fist collides with the side of her face, aggravating the bump she got from the television; she crumbles by the window sill.

Jade doesn't let her rest, instead jumping on top of her and continuing the assault; it's all numb pain, knuckles against her cheeks and nails scratching at her eyelids, trying to pry her eyes out. "Very impressive, little girl." Jade is yelling at her, her scalp pouring blood down her face, a few drops falling onto her neck. "Good to know you're actually learning something at that—"

There's a scream like a wild animal; Paula is clawing her way across the floor, her mangled legs dragging out behind her and catching on over turned pieces of furniture. There's a moment in which she exchanges a frightened look with her older sister, and suddenly it's like they're both children again, living in constant fear of their parents. Paula smashes her tea cup on the back of the television, holding the broken pieces of glass by the handle and looking murderous. "Enough." She cackles, then launches herself at Jade.

There's a noise that sounds disgustingly like broken glass being ground into flesh; she's on the verge of passing out but she can hear Jade's screams, so raw and animalistic and she's dead—they're all dead—she can hear the struggling of fists and a guttural cry in the back of Paula's throat; there's a smash and the cold November air is whirling around the room. She can feel rough fingers tugging her hair off her face, can feel a palm pressed to her cheek.

Weirdly enough she hears her father's voice, even though she knows he isn't there, and the distant memory of him whispering to her and Jade affectionately rings through her ears; _"Crock Women are crazy by nature, all in the breeding, they're blood thirsty little things..."_

She doesn't remember closing her eyes.

* * *

She isn't exactly sure what happened afterwards. From what she's been told Oliver came to call with, ridiculously, a turkey—she has the impression that he walked into a pretty deadly looking scene and the bird in question went bad sitting on the counter.

Her mother is relocated temporarily to an undisclosed location as the League gives their tiny apartment a taste of revamped security. She is a little disgusted with how thankful she is for the separation; in the quiet moments she has between debriefings and retelling what happened she can still hear the sound of glass grinding into skin, can still see Paula slithering across the floor with murder etched into the lines on her face. Knowing that Huntress is still inside her mother, knowing that she is still capable of murder, frightens her.

She blinks, now seated once again in the too-plush chair of Black Canary's office. "What?"

She's not quite sure what she's just heard, her head too busy being filled with old memories from the night before. It's too early for this kind of questioning, The Cave too quiet with the absence of teammates celebrating or Black Friday shopping. Black Canary exchanges a look with Oliver, who is hovering close behind her chair, his hands pressing against the leather.

"I said," Canary uncrosses and crosses her legs, shifting her weight. "That I owe you an apology, Artemis."

Her eyes narrow. "For what?"

Another glance at Oliver, who squeezes the back of the chair so hard the leather squeaks. "For the last time you and I spoke. I spent too much time probing and not enough time taking you seriously."

It's odd, to be sitting in the counselling office and calling the shots. She can smell herself; she hasn't had the time to properly shower since the attack, and she reeks of blood and sweat and Jade. "Oh." Is all she says. Her hands clench against her knees, the shallow wound on her stomach aching.

Canary seems to read something in the one syllable she offers, her chin jutting forward slightly. "I'm sorry Artemis. I thought—the way you spoke about your father. I thought there was a chance…"

"… You thought you still couldn't trust me." She finishes for her, closing her eyes. She can feel her shoulders tighten, the skin over her neck feeling oddly taught.

So this is it. It's been months now, and she's still being suspected of betrayal. They're still waiting for her to mess up, to turn her back on them all; still waiting for her to raise a false alarm and lure her comrades into a fight. She bites her tongue.

Canary has been speaking, leaning forward towards her imploringly. "… We're revamping security around your apartment; it will be given League protection, the best we can get. Artemis?"

She nods, finally opening her eyes and getting to her feet. "I have to go."

She can feel Oliver and Canary exchanging a look behind her, and she's got her fist closed around the door handle before they say anything to stop her. "Artemis—" Oliver begins, stopping himself short when he sees a muscle jump in her spine. "About your sister."

She stills.

"Do you want us to… Do you want The League to see if we can track her? To see if she's alive?"

She doesn't even bother responding, instead turning the handle and leaving the room before they can say anything else to stop her. She heads for the shower.

 _There's no point wasting time finding out,_ She reminds herself, clenching her fist to her sides as she stalks down the hallway. She knows her mother, knows that Huntress has merely been lying dormant all these years. Huntress is ruthless, blood thirsty and always, _always_ , lethal.

 _Like any good Crock woman._

* * *

She waits until she's in the shower before she allows herself to cry.

It unfortunate, really, that the only showers in The Cave are located through a few sets of doors beside the gym. She wants privacy, darkness; she wants her shower at home, with the water that's always too hot or too cold. She wants to stand against the mildewed drain and feel her feet against the crumbling tile and feel alive in a sea of wreckage.

Instead she is alone in a room full of sterile white; walls, tile, lockers. Even the shower stalls are white, so bright and reflecting the ceiling light back at her in a way that tires her eyes. Everything feels cold, the way she wishes she would feel—she wants to feel nothing, wants to forget her sister already—yet all she can do is long for the shower at home and for the places Jade once stood. She blinks into a mirror that's too clean and wishes Red Tornado would be less thorough.

 _She tried to kill you. You should be happy she's dead._

 _Get over it._

She strips until she's stark naked, practically glowing in the sea of white, not bothered about modesty. She doesn't care if she is walked in on, doesn't have anything else to give for any another emotions. She only feels for Jade.

The water doesn't take a few minutes to warm up the way it would at home—the second she turns on the tap she can see steam rising, furling around her body and making it almost impossible to breathe. She turns the tap up to its hottest setting, hissing and nearly crying out as it scalds her flesh.

It's too much; the pain from the water and the pain from the loss. It only takes a few seconds before she loses it; all at once she can feel herself mimicking the swirling of the copper colored blood disappearing down the drain, her own head seeming to spin off her shoulders. Jade. Her sister. Gone.

 _Gone Gone Gone Gone._

 _It's all your fault._

She can't quite place why she's so upset; she hasn't had much contact with Jade over the last few years, and that distance has only been broken by violent encounters that have left her nearly dead each time. She should be happy the burden is gone, happy that there's one less string attaching her to her past.

 _Keep it together._

She lets out a rush of breath, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks and blend in with the water hitting the top of her head. She thinks ridiculously of her Alice in Wonderland poster; thinks of the little girl with the bow on her head, thinks of the Cheshire Cat's smile and the dangerous path he went on. She remembers watching Jade read the original book in bed on Saturday nights when there was nothing else exciting happening, remembers watching the intensity in her eyes as she scoured each line of text for a meaning that was always so much clearer to her than to Artemis.

Jade wasn't all bad. She always spared her life, never tried to fatally injure her—the last time is an exception. She always thought… She always thought Jade would come back. Maybe not to her, maybe not entirely, but maybe just enough to get herself out of the game and onto better things. She can feel a bit of a catch at the back of her throat, and she presses her hands against the tiled wall, as if trying to keep her own grief at a distance from her. There's no chance for that now.

She doesn't know how long she cries for; all she knows is that when she turns off the tap her skin is raw and red in many places and the cut on her stomach is bleeding again. She scrubs herself ruthlessly with her towel, the pain somehow mollifying the inner turmoil raging inside her. Everything she feels is proof she's alive, proof that finally, finally, she's beaten Jade at something. The thought fills her mouth with bitterness and she actually spits, a line of saliva dribbling down her chin and dripping onto the floor.

She runs the to

wel mercilessly over her stomach a few more times, until her own blood is running angrily down her legs and pooling at her feet.

 _Let it scar_.

* * *

 **AN: This should serve as my reasoning for why Artemis was mysteriously absent from a couple episodes with no explanation.**

 **Alright ladies and gents! This is where I leave you for the next few days. Enjoy your collective long weekend and please give me some lovely reviews to get me excited to come back and write!**


	9. 8: Unravelling

**AN: And we're back.**

* * *

She keeps to herself the next few days, leaving her room only under the pretext of sneaking out and prowling the Happy Harbor streets in favor of encountering the other members of the Team. She privately thinks that she's picked a very convenient time to mourn the loss of her sister: everyone else is too busy in the days after Thanksgiving with their too-early Christmas shopping or visiting with their family to pay much attention to the small clues of her presence.

When she wakes up in the morning it is to an alarm: The Team is needed.

She's still sore from her episode in the shower a few nights before before, the skin of her stomach looking slightly raw, the mark from Jade's sai having scabbed over into a thin crust of dried blood. She can move but the coarse skin is fragile; it takes her a bit longer than usual to get up and put on her uniform, and despite the injury she decides to disregard Black Canary's orders to take it easy: she's craving violence, craving blood, the same way Jade always did.

When she finally makes an appearance (she's been fussing with her pants and trying to cover most of the scab, cursing her uniform for showing so much of her midriff) she's greeted by welcoming smiles, and in M'gann's case a squeal, as she takes her place beside Wally. She's can't help the excited snarl she's donning, can't help the fact that her fingers are itching for her arrows and for violence, almost as if causing someone else pain will ease hers. It feels good to be back in the game, especially so when Kaldur starts his briefing with a nod curtly in her direction and says, "Welcome back."

She can sense Wally's gaze on her face, his eyes reading the malicious look she's barely concealing. She can tell he senses something is off about her, as if he knows her well enough to know that something inside of her is snapped, broken, buried, and replaced with nothing but numbness. "…Hi." She forces herself to say, the same jumping feeling he incites in her stomach sounding but feeling oddly muted, as if she's too cold to feel that kind of affection anymore.

She feels him move a little closer, his suit clad forearm brushing against hers. "Hi." He says back. "... You okay?"

Her muscles respond to his proximity the way her mind won't, shivering against her will. She forces her eyes back on Kaldur, pretending to listen. "Yes."

* * *

He corners her in the back room of the Bioship, long after Kaldur has finished his speech and the ocean is speeding below them. His presence in the confines of the back room is overwhelming, almost overbearing, the scent of walnuts sticking to every surface.

"Long time no see." Wally smirks at her, blocking her entrance back into the main cabin. "How was your vacation, Blondie?"

Her fingers tense slightly on the little paper cup she's holding, spilling a few dribbles of water over the edge. "Relaxing." It's always been a little difficult for her to lie to his face, and hoping for a distraction she tilts the cup back, drinking the cup's contents like its hard liquor. "Just what I needed."

She crumples the cup a little too viciously before she throws it in the garbage, but if he notices he doesn't say anything; he has this ridiculous grin on his face, as if he's actually really missed her. "Oh yeah? Lots of sun and surf and sand?"

She follows the movement of his thumbs as his hands go to his hips, pressing against the muscles that would guide her to the point between his legs. She drops her chin slightly, looking at him through the holes of her mask. "Totally. I think I might have gotten a tan." She snorts. It's so easy, the banter between them; it's always been easy to talk to him, even when he was at his most annoying. She can almost pretend she's okay.

 _She is okay. She just needs to focus, block it out... Block out everything..._

One of his hands swings forward, as if he's about to poke her stomach or look for some sort of evidence for the made up browning of her skin. Then, oddly, it stops. She closes her eyes.

 _Fuck._

"What's that?" She hates the sudden shift in his voice; hates that he's no longer teasing her. She hates that she can tell without looking that his hand is suspended in midair, his forefinger pointing to the cut that's probably poking out of the top of her kevlar leggings. She hates that she can hear the accusatory tone in his voice, hates that he's furious at her for getting hurt, hates that there are a thousand questions that are bubbling to the front of his mind that she can't answer to without crying.

 _She hates that she can't tell him the truth._

She keeps her face as relaxed as she can as she opens her eyes, trying to ignore the look on his face and the emotion bobbing at the back of her throat, threatening to burst forward. "Old scar, Baywatch. Haven't you seen it before?"

"We both know that's barely healed."

He's using that cold, ragged voice again, the one she hates; she decides the best plan of action is to keep playing it off like its normal, to try to turn this around on him. So she quirks a brow. "God, Wally, relax would you? It's just a cut—" She nearly jumps out of her skin as he tries to reach for her, the tips of his burning fingers running the length of her stomach before she can swat them away. She can feel her cheeks going off, no doubt a ridiculous crimson beneath her mask.

 _Okay, maybe she isn't numb to everything..._

"Fuck, Wally!" She hisses.

He's not deterred by her language, and she has to fend off another couple attempts at his touching her until she's got his wrists contained in her fists, pinning them in the air between them. "What happened?" He gets out through gritted teeth.

She's beginning to sense that he's actually angry _at her_ now; he's struggling hard against her iron grip, his wrists rubbing painfully against a few of her old blisters. She tenses her muscles, holding him tighter. "Wally—"

"What happened!" He's more insistent now, and with a surge of strength she didn't know he had he's suddenly free, his hands clenched into fists at his side, glowering at her as if he's ready to commit a murder, against her or her assailant she can't tell. "Who did that to you?" He demands.

She hates to admit it but she's a little afraid of him; a little uncomfortable with the way his breath is coming in hard and fast out of his mouth, the way it's warming her cheeks and making her tongue reach out of its own accord to wet her lips. She has to take a moment to mentally pull herself together, and the few seconds of silence that follows are spent glaring at each other. "Look." She sighs, taking a step back so she can no longer feel the warmth radiating off of him. "It's not important. Let's just focus on the mission, okay?"

His eyes narrow at her, a habit she thinks he got from her. "… Why don't you tell me stuff?" He asks her after a while. The change in his voice makes her stomach drop, the edge gone and replaced with a kind of sadness that almost makes her reach out to him.

"What?" She rasps out, still trying to sound annoyed, as if that will rouse the hurt note out of her voice and get them back to fighting properly.

"I mean…" The tips of his ears go a bit pink and suddenly he's rubbing at the back of his neck, a little harder and rougher than he normally would have. "We're friends, Artemis. And I—I care about what's going on with you. And you won't tell me anything. It's—It's just—"

She reaches for him as he cuts himself off; they both watch as her hand hangs limply in the air between them before returning to her side. She hates herself. "… Wally…" She says quietly.

She doesn't know what she's about to say, not sure if she's actually going to tell him that her sister is dead and she's on the edge of insanity, but Kaldur saves her the trouble; she can hear him call out to them from the cabin. "Landing in 60 seconds."

"Right." Wally calls for them both. He doesn't even look at her before he leaves.

 _She ruins everything._

* * *

This time, it's her turn to seek him out.

She has to physically bite her tongue when he leaves the Bioship without speaking so much as word to her, leaving them all to unceremoniously go their separate ways without a proper debriefing; the rest of the Team seems to sense Wally's bad mood and somehow it's decided that they're all to keep to themselves tonight.

It's hardly six when they return, and although she has too much dignity to go directly looking for him she finds herself prowling through the Cave's common areas; she feels like some sort of wild cat searching for prey as she makes her rounds through the living room and darting down random hallways, grabbing unnecessary snacks from the kitchen and walking past the door of the training room too many times. On one of these occasions she nearly walks in on M'gann and Connor getting a little too heated during a sparring session, and she decides she needs to do away with any pride she has left and abandon any hope of a seemingly casual encounter.

 _What's happened to her? She used to not care about anyone._

 _And now she's grieving for her sister and trying to make amends to Baywatch._

 _... She really is insane._

She's glaring at the kettle in the kitchen when Robin wanders in, silently willing the water to boil quicker. He raises a brow behind his glasses, glancing at the clock on his phone and at her. "Been looking for the Wallman this whole time?"

She feels a muscle jump in her cheek. "No." She's not entirely lying—she did spend a few minutes showering and changing into civvies. "Where is he anyway? Did he go home?"

The kettle is beginning to whistle; she can see Robin smirking at her. "You two have another lovers quarrel?"

She doesn't deem that with a comment, reaching for a cup.

Robin sends her a bit of a funny look when she doesn't respond, as if he knows exactly what's going on behind the pink of her cheeks. "He's in his room. Didn't even feel like playing video games or anything."

"Hm." Is how she greets this information. She doesn't even have the patience to let her tea properly brew, and starts slugging back the scalding water, hoping it will knock some sense into her and stop her from acting like an idiot. Robin leans against the counter, and she has a feeling that behind the darkness of the sunglasses he's trying to read her.

"What's going on with you two?" He asks, not giving her time to even think of an answer before he ploughs onward. "I'm just asking because, you know. Too many couples on the Team may be a bit of a distraction. Connor and M'gann are bad enough—"

She slugs back the rest of the tea, slamming her cup on the counter and turning to send him a glare. "Look who's talking, Dick. Seen Zatanna lately?" She's got him there; whether from his civilian name or from the reference to their teammate his cheeks go slightly pink.

"Hey." His chin juts out slightly, almost defiantly, and all she can think is that he's never looked younger. "I'm just looking out for the Team, okay?"

For a second they both look at each other, glaring in the hard and teasing way siblings do. She thinks she understands where he's coming from, thinks she knows the warning he's giving her, the same warning he probably got from Batman when Zatanna started living at the Cave full time: Don't get attached. Don't let your feelings fuel your drive.

 _She's failing on both accounts._

She scoffs out loud, turning her back on him. She doesn't need him to teach her a lesson; she's grown up knowing the rules he had to learn over time. She knows the risks associated with this kind of life, no matter what side you're on. Being close with someone only creates more opportunities for your demise, only increases the risk you take in stepping into the line of fire. It only doubles the number of bodies that will destroy you if they fall.

"Whatever." She shrugs, sending him a slightly teasing look over her shoulder that only makes him angrier. "You can relax, Bird Brain. You don't have to worry about that with me and Wally."

 _She automatically remembers the window, how it felt to be beside Wally, how warm he was even through their layers of clothing._

 _She's always run cold and she wonders how easily she'll be to defrost, when the time comes..._

Robin glances back down at his phone for a second before looking back at her again, the skin around his glasses wrinkling slightly as he frowns. "... What about you? How are you doing?"

The way she says it is almost mechanical, more obviously a lie than anything else she's ever said. "Fine."

She watches his Adam's apple bob out of the corner of her eye "... You sure?"

In answer she nods above her tea cup, placing her lips around the edge of the glass and sucking back the warm liquid. She waits until Robin leaves before she grabs a fresh cup from the cupboard, taking care to add milk and sugar this time.

* * *

It's slightly humiliating to knock on his door a few minutes later, and slightly more so when he doesn't immediately answer.

"Wally." She says to the closed door, shifting her hands so as to expose more of her fingers to the warmth of the cup of tea she's brought him; milk and sugar, brewed with a bag, not leaves, the way he likes it. She taps again with the toe of her foot. "I know you're in there, Baywatch."

It takes a second or two for the old nickname to resonate and in that time she feels a breeze on her feet from the bottom of the door; in an instant the it's opened and he's frowning down at her, already clad in his usual layered shirts and looking off-put. He glances down at the tea in her hands. "What's this?"

She can feel her cheeks go pink. "A peace offering." She says slightly through her teeth, as if the feign annoyance she has will somehow save her some of her pride. "Can I come in?"

He actually hesitates, which stings her slightly, before moving aside and allowing her in.

She feels a little awkward, not entirely sure what to do with herself; he's standing by the now shut door and frowning at her, watching as she walks to the middle of the room. She suspects this is how he felt, months ago, when he came calling to her for comfort in the middle of the night.

She spots some homework on his desk, as if she's just interrupted him from doing it; she takes a few paces closer, inspecting his textbook and the few problems he's been working on. "Math?" She asks lamely.

He doesn't respond to the obvious question. She doesn't really blame him.

She's not good at this; not good at making nice with people. She's always so quick to be abrasive, making split-second decisions and letting the chips fall where they may. She's not used to having to turn around, not used to double checking her steps and picking up pieces. She bites her lower lip, willing herself to suddenly possess some sort of higher knowledge for what she's supposed to do.

 _She wishes she could talk to Jade about this kind of thing._

She decides to stupidly hold out the cup toward him. "I made it the way you like it." She says.

He doesn't cross the room, but stops leaning against the wall and brooding; God, he's so dramatic. "Thanks."

She doesn't know why but the one syllable he utters hurts her more than his silence—it's so unlike him to be quiet, so unlike him not to be bothering her or badgering her with questions or annoying the hell out of her. She hates that he's acting like he's given up on her, acting like she's betrayed him… It's not her fault. She's not good at these things, not good at getting close to people, not good at allowing herself to be vulnerable.

She's not good at apologizing either, but suddenly that's the only thing she can think to do.

Her hands are shaking when she sets down his tea, which is beginning to go cold, and she decides it will be easier to apologize to his math homework rather than to him directly. She blinks, staring at problem seven. "I'm sorry, okay?"

It sounds slightly accusatory and makes her feel like she has to rush on to make amends for it; problem seven looks complicated and she knows she'll never be able to solve it in a million years. "I'm sorry. I'm not used to—to having friends, okay? I'm not used to sharing my secrets and... And I know you think it's weird for me to be like this, but I didn't… I didn't grow up telling everyone everything. I don't really—" She has to stop herself, because suddenly her throat is a bit too tight and there are tears in her eyes. "I don't really know what I'm doing here."

 _She's never spoken truer words, because she doesn't... She doesn't know how to grieve, how to combat the two emotions whirling inside of her, doesn't know how to keep on living without a sister and doesn't know how to tell a boy that she likes him; and Jade, Jade where is she? She left her once and now she's gone off the path she's trying to follow, and she'll never be able to get her back and Wally, Wally would understand but she's too afraid to tell him..._

She feels stupider than she ever has in her whole life, even more so when her hair is thrown over her shoulder by a breeze and Wally's standing beside her, looking at her like she's some sort of alien for having tears welling in her eyes. She's embarrassed and wishing he was back brooding against the wall, not getting closer than necessary and making this more difficult.

"Artemis." He says her name quietly, and suddenly she can't look at him, not when he's using that soft voice he used that time she had her concussion, the one she associates with comfort and safety. She can feel one of his hands hovering behind her back, not quite sure if he can touch her.

"I'm sorry." She inhales and all she can hear is a rather loud sniffle, and she officially wants to die. "I'm not good at this. Just… drink your tea."

"Artemis…"

"Do it."

He takes the tea off the desk, and she takes the few moments it takes for him to slug all the liquid back to pull herself together, blinking quickly at the textbook. When he places the cup back down she has her expression set, her eyes hard and her mouth tight. "Do you accept my apology?"

 _She's sorry she's such a mess, and sorry that he'll never understand why._

For a moment he just looks at her, then all at once he's laughing in her face; she can smell walnuts coming from his hair as he runs his hands through it, his freckled cheeks tight over his skull. It's the most Wally-like laugh she can imagine, loud and demanding everyone else around him to laugh too, as if whatever he feels is universal, never changing and dependable. The sound is warm and friendly in her ear and she can't even keep the stern expression on her face; a part of her cracks with relief and tugs the corner of her lips upwards.

All at once his eyes are open and bright, watering slightly. "God. You're the only person I know who can make an apology sound like a death threat." He chuckles, and the sound seems to reverberate somewhere in her stomach. She doesn't have the mental capacity to resist when he hands reach towards her; it's as if every cell in her brain slows as he tugs on the hem of her sweater, pulling her towards him. Every nerve in her body explodes when his arms wrap around her, pulling her until she's pressed flush against his body.

 _He's hugging her._

She's heard of sensations overwhelming the senses before but never experienced it until now; suddenly she feels like a mere ball of nerves in his arms, waiting to be played with. He's not much taller than her but suddenly she's hardly touching the ground, the tips of her toes barely skimming against the carpet, the shell of her armpit fitting against the swell of his shoulder as she's pulled upwards, her chin sitting against his cheek.

He's so hard beneath her; it's not just her chest crushed against his but everything, all their muscles fitting and pressing together, her hip bones digging into the tops of his and sending a dizzying sensation between her thighs. She can feel his biceps flexing against the side of her breasts, his palms pressing against her shoulder blades.

It takes her a second before she can hug him back, her hands wrapping around his neck and bracing on her elbows. It's terrifying to her how good, _how natural_ , it feels to be this close. She inhales his scent, so strong that she actually stops breathing for a moment, trying to keep a piece of him inside her lungs.

After a while she pulls back, releasing her elbows until her feet are back on the carpet properly. She's expecting him to let go, to take a step back, the way they always do, but he's not backing down. They simply blink a few times at each other, his hands still on her back and her hands on his shoulders.

Wally lets out a shaky chuckle and with a jolt the sound feels as if it's inside her, twisting and rubbing at the point between her legs.

"Uh." She says in a slightly nervous tone, hoping that hearing her own voice will somehow call them back from the place of delusion they're currently in; it's as if the rational part of her brain has suddenly disappeared, nothing stopping her from shifting slightly closer to him. She can feel her eyelids dropping slightly, one of her fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve. It's official, she's an idiot.

She watches him swallow, his neck bobbing against the square line of his jaw. "Yeah?"

His voice sounds oddly thick and excited, his ears going red as he says it. His hands have suddenly dropped, no longer on her back, but on her waist; she can feel his thumbs pressing against her ribs, can feel his arms subconsciously guiding her closer.

She obliges, and suddenly she can feel the length of him through his jeans, pressing ever so slightly against her thigh. He's beginning to get hard.

It shocks her slightly, to feel the evidence of his wanting right there. She shivers with a mild sense of panic; she doesn't know how she feels, doesn't know what do when he's right there in front of her and when she wants him so badly. She's been alone for so long, been messing with boy's heads for too long, she doesn't know how to do this properly; doesn't know what to do when he's standing in front of her, his face onto a few inches away from hers, and making it so easy for her to do this without thinking.

She tries speaking again, hoping to distract him until she can figure out how she feels or forget the conversation she's just had with Robin. "A-ask me something." She says, trying to sound teasing and commanding and instead sounding like a nervous idiot.

He pulls back, a mess of red hair and freckles, looking a bit confused and like he's also come to his senses. "What?"

She can tell that she's broken the moment and oddly feels disappointed; his hands aren't pulling her closer anymore. "You wanted to know more about me…" She feels even dumber than before, and is wishing she had just let things carry on the way they were a few seconds ago. "I mean. You were right. I don't tell you stuff."

He looks a little bemused and she has the sense to stop toying with his sleeve; they both break apart and look a little flustered. "Oh." He starts rubbing at the back of his neck nervously. "Okay. Obvious one. The uh—" He glances down at her stomach, and when she moves to follow his gaze she's a little disappointed when she can't see any evidence of his arousal anymore and then immediately embarrassed for looking.

She had been expecting his question and decides it's best to tell the truth, or as close as she can get to it without revealing anything. "My sister and I got into a fight."

His eyes narrow, and she supposes he's wondering why she never mentioned she had a sister—it occurs to her, with a renewed tightness in her throat, that she doesn't have one anymore. She mentally pushes her grief aside, instead focusing on the teasing quirk of his lips and keeping her face as passive as possible. "Who won?" He asks.

It takes her a moment to decide, ignoring the sinking feeling in her chest as she says it _(her sister is dead and she's using it as an excuse to get the know the boy across from her. She's disgusting, she's vile, she hates herself)_ "… I think I did."

He crosses his arms across his chest, beginning to look like a kid at Christmas: excited, curious, and extremely bratty. "Middle name?" She can tell it's the first in a long series of questions, designed to trip her up and reveal information. She likes the interrogational tone he's adopting.

"Lian."

"Favorite food?"

"Tea."

"That's a drink."

She scrunches her nose slightly. "Fine. Stir Fry."

"Really?" He mirrors her expression, the freckles on his nose disappearing into creases, and for one wild moment she almost throws Robin's advice to hell.

Instead she half chuckles, pushing whatever feeling that's awoken inside her aside; she's enjoying the easy rhythm between them again, the usual banter. It's easy to get lost in and forget her grief; much safer than whatever was about to unfold between the two of them a few minutes ago. "You know, for someone who spends half his day in the kitchen you really are a picky eater."

He ignores her jib. "Best friend?"

She's been answering these questions off the top of her head so far, and at this she has to bite her tongue slightly. She knows he's expecting her to have to debate between M'gann and Zatanna, maybe even a few friends at school. He thinks he's got her, tricked her or something stupid. Typical Wally.

She turns pink and goes back to addressing problem seven. "… You." She almost snarls at it, as if she's admitting some sort of terrible secret.

When she risks a glance back at him he's beaming, and for a second she actually forgets that she's supposed to be miserable.

* * *

She returns to her apartment the next morning.

She's not exactly sure what The League has done to the place; Oliver had explained something that sounded stupidly high tech to her, and to be frank a lot of it went over her head with the exception of a few words: "alarm," "surveillance," and "security," being of the few. She supposes if it's good enough for The League it ought to be good enough for her, although she doesn't like the security system they install around the front door; it goes off at odd times in the night when no one is there, only increasing the anxiety she has about living in her own home rather than at the Cave.

Paula is quiet. She suspects her mother is embarrassed for her behavior, embarrassed that the person she abandoned along with her legs is still inside her, still ready for a little action. They don't talk much anymore, just sit in long silence sipping tea.

She comes home from school and is just in the process of removing her boots when she glances up into the living room, only to find Paula bending over an old photo album on her lap.

The snow in her socks feels especially cold.

She can see Jade's child-like face beaming out of the photograph, looking no older than 7 and already slightly hardened around the edges. Before she can sneak off to her room Paula looks round, sending her a sad smile and looking almost surprised that she's back at home after so many days of absence. "Oh, darling..." She says softly, and the fact that there are tears running down her cheeks makes everything so, so much worse. "When did it all go so wrong?"

She doesn't quite know what to say, and instead she settles for being honest. "To be fair, I don't think anything we did was right."

It's the wrong answer; Paula lets out a fragile sob and Artemis knows there's no chance of her disappearing into her bedroom anymore. Almost reluctantly she approaches the back of her mother's chair.

"Have you—" Paula lets out a noise that nearly breaks her heart. "Have you heard anything? From the League? Did—Did I really-?"

Paula stops before she can finish her sentence, and she can't think of anything to say that won't sound horrible. Instead she leans forwards until her arms are wrapped around her mother's neck, hugging her and feeling pathetic for not knowing what to do.

"I'm a murder again, aren't I?" Paula sobs.

She stays quiet.

* * *

She blinks twice at the hand waving in front of her face, pulling her eyes into focus and glaring round at Zatanna. "What?"

In answer the raven haired girl gestures to her cup of tea, her fingers still whirling the spoon wildly around her cup, the metal clanking loudly against the glass. "Do you mind? Some of us are trying to study for our midterms."

It takes her a second to remember that life is going on around her, that she's the only one with a mountain of homework piled up on her desk, the only one who knows that Jade is dead and the only one who aches for her while everyone else is busy with midterms and assignments and trying to save the world that she's checked out of. She removes the spoon and brings her cold tea to her lips. "Sorry." She says to the cup.

Zatanna makes a movement as if to turn away before she stops herself, sapphire eyes squinting at her. "You haven't been yourself lately." She says, not bothering with the delicate questions everyone else has been asking her and instead cutting to the chase. "... When you're ready to talk, I'm ready to listen, okay? I need a break from studying anyway."

She nods as the other girl takes her leave.

 _She's not doing well._

* * *

"Move over." He had said to her a few hours ago, jumping over the back of the couch and landing a little roughly beside her.

She remembers glaring at the few pieces of popcorn he had scattered. "You're not going to like what I'm watching."

He was already shoveling popcorn into his mouth, nearly spraying her with kernels as he talked. "So? Come on, catch me up to speed here."

And so, with a certain amount of embarrassment, she had walked him through the finer points of a romantic comedy.

She only put the movie on the distract herself; as of late she's been having a hard time being at home or sitting in the silence at the Cave, even her old creature comforts like reading aren't doing enough to keep thoughts of Jade at bay. She had put the movie on because it would be predictable, would be easy to follow and most importantly it would keep her mind focused on how stupid it was.

She's surprised at how good of a sport Wally is being about it. He's been playing up at the cheesy parts of the movie for her, gasping whenever something dramatic happens and booing at every twist of the plot. She supposes he's been sensing she's been off lately; she had been a little too quick to cry in his bedroom the other day, her temper so much shorter than usual. She supposes this is his attempt to cheer her up.

She's having a perfectly good time until he scoots over slightly, one of his knees shifting to bump against hers as he leans toward her. "Popcorn?" He asks.

It's ridiculous, but the one word is enough to trip her up, forcing her pulse to quicken and her muscles to tense. _Wally doesn't share food._

She has enough grace to shake her head no before turning back to the screen, watching with so much intensity she may as well be writing one of her midterms on the film. Suddenly her heart is jumping, her ears are ringing, and she's back in his room, feeling the length of him pressing against her thigh.

 _Oh, God._

She's been trying to avoid dissecting her feelings for a while; there's been so much going on with Jade, so much happening the past few months that she's hardly given much notice to her sudden shift of feelings for the boy beside her. It had been so much easier before when she could hardly stand to be in the same room as him. Now he's her best friend and she can hardly keep it together when he hugs her. She has to accept it. Has to accept the fact of the matter that somehow, between the fighting and the missions and the constant squabbling that she's come to _care_ for him.

 _No._ She blinks at the screen, not really taking in anything that's happened. No, she doesn't care for him. She just wants him. She just wants a good chase, wants a quick pursuit of a target and that will be it. It's just about sex and teenage hormones and something to get her mind of her sister.

She realizes suddenly that he hasn't moved away from her; she can feel the warmth coming off him, his hand wrapped around the bowl that's still perched on both of their laps. She can feel her heart beat flying against her ribs, seeming to center around his elbow as it brushes against her side.

Oh, Christ.

 _She likes Wally West._

She likes the way he's slouched back into the couch; likes that she can see him smiling along with the protagonist on screen. She likes that he drank all the tea she brought him the other night, even if it was a peace offering and even if she acted like an idiot when she gave it to him. She likes that he can make her laugh, likes that he teases Robin and Zatanna for her benefit and that he can almost make her forget that she's been a lousy person in the past. She likes the way he looked the other night after he had hugged her, liked the way his jaw got tight and his words he become muddled. She likes that she's made boys feel that way before but for once in her life she's just as undone as he is.

She knows she shouldn't feel like this. She doesn't need another person to look out for, doesn't need to drag another person into the mess that is her life. She's too dangerous for him, too tainted by the past; she'll never been good enough for him to—

He shifts the bowl so it's on his lap now, his one arm stretching out to rest on his leg. His fingers are barely brushing her clasped hands.

She's losing it. She actually _wants_ him to hold her hand.

She goes back to staring at the screen, refusing point blank to meet the half glance he sends in her direction. She can feel the blush creeping on her cheeks, can hear his fingers beginning to rub against the fabric of his jeans. She wishes she knew what to do, wishes her mind could decide on a course of action; she's played this game before but it had been just that, a game—she doesn't want to play Wally, she wants to… Well, something.

The couple on screen is locking lips furiously and she seriously considers getting her bow and launching a full scale attack on the television. She can hear Wally's nails scratch against his pants.

She glances down from the screen and watches his hand hesitate, rubbing his palm on his knee. Then all at once his fingers reach out, curling around her wrist and dragging her hands apart. It takes a few seconds for him to get their fingers properly intertwined, his palm sweaty just like hers. Without looking at her he places their hands surely on his thigh, as if there's nothing unusual about them holding hands.

She sends him a slightly affronted look but he doesn't meet her eye, his ears as red as her cheeks. He feels just the same as he did in Bialya, completely free of blisters or callouses and anything rough to break away from the smooth flesh of his hand. His thumb is pressing on the notch in her hand that balances her bow and she hopes she doesn't feel too bumpy under his touch.

"This movie is stupid." He says good naturedly, still not looking at her. She feels herself grin, glancing back at the screen.

"Yeah."

* * *

She slips into a slight state of denial. Some days she's so sure of Jade's death that she can hardly stand it; she spends hours sobbing in the shower or hiding under the covers in her bedroom, too distraught to face the world. As quickly as she grieves she also starts forming off theories about Jade's odds of survival; she convinces herself she sees her in crowds, convinces herself that she's still out there, then convinces herself just as quickly that it's simply Wally's optimism getting to her and warping the way she's thinking. The whole thing is exhausting and some days she wonders if she'll ever be anything other than an insane girl stuck down a rabbit hole. She begins to get slightly reckless when they go on missions and the wound on her stomach reopens twice.

Oliver, as always, picks the wrong moment to have a talk with her.

They're perched on the top of her apartment building, as they always do after training sessions; she's improved a lot over the past couple months, already considerably more lethal than she was before (and let's face it, she was already pretty deadly to begin with.) She's no longer sweating or out of breath like she used to be, and soon she thinks she'll have bettered the man beside her.

"I was having a talk with Batman the other day." He begins, leaning on his bow in a way she would never dare to with hers; pressing the two points between his knee and his chin, bending the weapon slightly.

She nods along, still a little bothered by how he's touching his bow; she's always been a little wary of damaging hers, the final gift her father gave her before he began the long process of abandonment. She knocks her knees together, the ledge they're sitting on providing them with a view of the spectacular smog filled city. "Hm."

Oliver picks his chin up, looking down at her. "The League has been tracking Cheshire, but we still aren't having much luck."

"No leads?"

"No leads." He confirms. They both continue gazing, unfocused and lost in their thoughts. She can feel a small bubble of grief threatening to burst inside her. "Look, I'm not going to lie to you. If we do get wind of her, there's going to be a full blown search party on the hunt for her. She's in trouble. But if I'm going to be frank… It's looking like she's not out there."

She feels her eyes narrow and ignores the look Oliver is giving her. "I know." She says, only half believing herself when she says it.

He keep looking at her, as if expecting her to have some big emotional release. He underestimates her, still thinks of her as being weak, a thought she can hardly bear. He sighs as she keeps staring straight ahead, glaring at the evening sky. "It's okay to miss her, Artemis." He says gently, and she nearly drops her head in shame as he slings and arm around her, pulling her into the crook of his arm. "Whatever your differences, she was still your sister."

She blinks rapidly, stars beginning to pop into view through the smog of the city skyline. Somewhere from the back of her mind springs forth a long forgotten memory: Jade making up her own names for the constellations, a string of funny words that made her laugh while their parents were fighting. She blinks again, opening and closing her mouth a few times before she finally figures out what she wants to say.

She doesn't want to grieve her, doesn't want to admit she's really gone. Jade's death means unfinished business, means that she'll never get to tell her sister that she loves her (even though she never did much of that in the first place.) She swallows. "I just always thought she would come back, you know?"

 _It's a naïve thought, one she's been harboring for years; repeated in her head a thousand times from the day Jade clicked the bedroom door shut behind her. It's pathetic and sad but still true... The Cheshire cat comes back to Alice, doesn't he? He helps her find her way? Or maybe he just gets them both lost in the woods, she can't remember, it's been years since she's read the book..._

Oliver's arm is tight around her, and she has the sudden urge to crawl into his lap and weep like a child, as if he really was her Uncle and she really was the kind of girl who found comfort in others. "If you want we can hold a service for her. Something really quiet, just me and your mother if you like."

"No."

She's realizing now that she's not ready to admit that Jade's gone; not ready to say goodbye, even if she has been doing so for the past few weeks. There's so much left to say, so many wounds they've been rubbing salt in too often. She's not ready to surrender her sister to death, especially without the proof of a body.

Maybe Jade is alive. She'll just have to prove it, somehow.

She returns to glaring at the sky, tracing old lines of made-up constellations. Green Arrow keeps his arm around her, his neck craning to see something he can't.

* * *

The next day she stalks the Academy hallways.

She's beginning to _really_ hate the school; the boys are all obnoxious and skirt chasing, the girls prudish and snobby. There are too many people in the small, prestigious space; too many children screaming and laughing and breathing the same air. She misses her old high school, misses the few friends she had. She's known almost exclusively as "Scholarship Girl" here, as if her lack of money makes her toxic to others.

She manages to track Robin down at the tail end of her study hall; he's laughing and talking with a large number of freshmen boys, a few of them cutting themselves off as she approaches, their eyes falling to watch the movement of her skirt. She cringes, keeping her eyes focused on the blue ones she so rarely sees. "I need to talk to you."

"Who's your pretty friend, Dick?" A blonde boys asks, walking forward boldly with his hands in his pockets. She can hear a crude muttering beginning to travel around the group, and few boys whistling and jeering at her. She ignores them.

Dick considers her slightly, looking a little cocky as he grins at her. "Now?"

She clenches her fists the same way he's seen her do a thousand times in battle, hoping he'll understand her warning before she has to voice it: she'll knock his friends over if they stay here much longer. Dick simply sighs.

"Alright." He says in an almost bored voice, disbanding himself from the pack of boys. She clenches her teeth as she feels the blonde boy's hand reach out, flirtatiously attempting to ruffle the end of her skirt.

"Bring her back soon, won't you?"

She nearly turns around and punches him right there, but suddenly Dick's hand is clenched easily around her wrist. "Take it easy." He says, dragging her to safety.

"Your friends are assholes." She tells him in a matter-of-fact voice, rubbing her wrist slightly as he releases it. They've made it almost halfway down the hallway now, the number of people around them slowly depleting.

Dick simply shrugs, one hand reaching up to loosen the tie around his neck. He seems so effortless here, as if the natural hierarchal structure of the school doesn't bother him; but then, she supposes, he's on top. "They're not so bad."

She nearly rolls her eyes. "Hm."

They take a turn, heading down a hallway that's completely abandoned and eerily quiet in the din of the school day. "So what's up?" He asks her, finally stopping beside a rather beat up looking water fountain and shoving his hands in his pockets. "Boy troubles?" He asks her easily, leaning causally against the wall.

She takes her time answering, bending slightly to adjust her left sock which always seems to be falling down. When she straightens up her face is set. "I need help."

"Wondering what to get Wally for Christmas?"

She narrows her eyes, ignoring his teasing despite the sudden redness of her cheeks. "No. I… I need a favor."

He tilts his chin back, his eyes narrowing and trying to read her. He looks slightly skeptical. "What kind of favor?"

She hesitates again, her hand reaching out to fiddle with the tap of the water fountain, turning it on and off. Dick's eyes follow the appearance and disappearance of the stream, the water gurgling as it circles down the drain. "... I need you to help me track Cheshire."

The second she says it all his muscles tense, his eyes flying wildly to check that they aren't being overheard. "Artemis—"

"I know!" She says in a slightly hushed tone, and she keeps her hand pressed against the fountain tap, hoping the water will cover their conversation. "I know, no Team business to be discussed outside of the Cave—"

Suddenly her hand is being ripped off the fountain, his grip like an iron vice as he drags her through a random door, nearly throwing her into a supply closet. Their entrance into the tiny room is slightly disruptive, her feet crushing a few lone boxes, a couple of markers rattling on the shelf. He does a quick sweep for cameras before his eyes are back on her, looking dead serious. "Like hell, no Team business to be discussed outside of the Cave. What are you thinking?"

It's so odd to have Robin yell at her, talking to her like she's a child. She has the sudden urge to yell back, but quickly represses it—she has a feeling she'll get farther if she plays nice. "I know, I'm sorry, I just—Look, it's personal. Please, Dick. I need your help."

Dick looks at her with his brows pursed. "Artemis…"

She's getting impatient, a little concerned they're going to be walked in on. "I'll cut to the chase. The League is trying to find her, and from what Oliver has told me… They want her. Dead or alive, by the sounds of it, although…"

Her voices waves a bit unexpectedly, and suddenly Robin's hand is on her shoulder, pressing hard against her muscle. "Calm down, Artemis. What's the favor?" He asks in a slightly softer voice, still looking serious.

She swallows thickly but forces herself to look him in the eye; it's about the most humiliating thing she's done, pleading with him. "Can you arrange it so we get the alert first? Before the League?"

He hesitates. "… You realize you're asking me to hack into League software, right? Asking me to break about a dozen rules and risk my spot on the Team as well as yours?"

"Don't give me that." She says lowly, dropping her chin to glare at him. He's grown nearly an inch in the last few weeks, and soon he'll be her height. She knows as well as he does that it's no issue to hack into the League mainframe; they do it nearly biweekly now. "Please, Dick?"

"Are you going to tell me why you're risking a security breach for this? Why you're risking your position?"

She hesitates, his scowl deepening when she shakes her head. "I can't, Dick. Please, just trust me."

He drops his hand from her shoulder, crossing his arms and creasing the crisp with shirt he has on. "… I can arrange to get the alert first, that's it. I can give us an hour head start, maybe two, but I can't stop them from getting the alert altogether. And I can't do anything if they get it while we're on a mission; if they get to her first, they get to her first. Got it?" She nods, and he considers her. "... You realize I'm a _detective_ , right?"

She knows what he means by this, knows what his tone is suggesting; he's going to do some digging. He'll do her the favor, he'll help her out this one time, but nothing in this world will stop him from discovering the truth.

 _The truth about her._

She keeps her tone level, her eyes bright and challenging in the dark. "... I thought every hero was entitled to a secret identity."

"You know mine."

She can't think of argument to this; yes, she's known who he really is for a while, known that he chose her instead of the others to tell his name to. She suspects that he could sense her natural aptitude for secrecy, could sense that she too was familiar with the lies it took to stay in the game and stay alive. She tightens her jaw and offers her hand to him, wincing slightly at the tightness of his hand shake. "Alright, Dick. Do your worst."

They leave the storage room together and she feels as if she's finally unravelling at the seams.

* * *

 **AN: Another chapter up! I hope you all had an awesome long weekend.**

 **I'm going to try to get everything up and finished ASAP because I'm travelling so much in the month of August and then head back to University in September.**

 **In the mean time, give me some reviews!**


	10. 9: Near Miss

**AN: Thanks for all your kind reviews! So many of them made me smile. Not to pump you guys up too much but the next chapter has a lot of my absolute favorite passages. Can't wait to hear what you all think.**

* * *

It's been a few minutes since he said it and the back of his neck is still bright red; his ears practically glowing in the dark of the night sky. She gets a little lost staring at his blush and analyzing its implications and before she knows it she's flying the Bioship a little more recklessly than she should be.

 _"_ _You are a real archer. And you don't have anything to prove… Not to me."_

She can't stop the words from repeating inside her head, each syllable sending another coil of pleasure through her stomach. His jaw had been tight, his chin dropped slightly as he surveyed her through sheepish eyes, and even though it's never occurred to her before she's suddenly thinking that the Bioship seats are keeping them too far apart.

 _Through all her grief and all her madness she can see him, standing on the other side waiting. She just needs to jump the last hurdle, fire the final arrow, and she'll be there..._

"We're in range." Her voice catches slightly as she says it, the odd note of wanting suddenly clear and plain in front of both of them. She can see his ears going off again, his excited muscles stretching the material of his leather jacket tight across his shoulders as she lowers the Bioship to the ground.

She lands a little clumsily, jostling them slightly before they settle onto the earth. Wally's on his feet and stretching again before she can so much as unbuckle her seat belt, trying to limber up before the mission. "This is gonna be so weird." He chuckles easily, as if trying to dissect some of the tension lingering in the air. "Not running, I mean."

She gets to her feet and walks towards him as he grabs his helmet off the floor, slinging it easily under his arm. "Yeah, well." She shrugs, crossing her arms across her chest. "If everything goes according to plan you shouldn't need to. So I'm keeping my fingers crossed that it's weird for you all night." As she says it her cheeks go slightly pink, as if they know she's just tried to sneakily wish him luck without being too obvious. Wally seems to assume as much too, his ears still neon in the dim light.

 _His blush is driving her crazy; it's just another layer of feverish skin that would be hot and sticky against hers and... Fuck._

 _Get your head on straight. Focus._

No matter how adamant she is about convincing herself otherwise she wants desperately to touch him, her fingers itching to grab him and do something completely irrational—she knows it's a simple tracking mission, knows that it's purely non-confrontational and that, if he's lucky, he'll have no contact with Sportsmaster. _No contact with her father._ Logically, she knows he's not in danger. It doesn't stop the lick of fear tickling her insides.

She clenches and unclenches her fingers before she decides to act on the impulse; reaching out she grabs his zipper, beginning to fiddle with it under the guise of adjusting its height. Wally's brows raise as her fingers brush his chest, the last bit of closeness she knows they'll have for a while, the sound of the metal teeth crunching together ringing in the silence as she zips it up to his jaw. She decides to let her hands linger on his collar.

"Hey." He says quietly, forcing her to look at him through her lashes. "Don't worry, okay?"

Her hands clench slightly on his collar. "I'm not worried." She says lamely.

He takes a tiny step closer, his free hand reaching out to touch her ever so slightly against her waist. The feeling of his hands on her, even if they are cloaked in gloves, is nearly electric—she can feel the vibrations of his fingers as they skim against her exposed flesh, sending a warmth directly between her legs. Almost against her will she makes a small noise in the back of her throat.

She knows she shouldn't do this—it's only going to make things more complicated—but she can't help it: she _wants_ Wally. She can feel his fingers tightening on her back, can feel his thumb pressing against her ribs, his grip growing surer. His jaw is tight, his eyes flickering back and forth between hers, trying to find the permission he needs that's hidden in the blush on both their cheeks.

 _She wants him to kiss her because she'll never be brave enough to. She'll never be able to push all her guilt and grief aside and allow herself the one simple pleasure of kissing him, not when it's so easy to dismiss herself as too-dirty or too-evil to touch him. She needs him closer, needs him to understand, needs him to take the lead, to run ahead like he did in Bialya and just grab her hand, pick her up, take her places she hasn't seen..._

He shifts himself closer, his eyes now focusing on her lips. Her tongue has just licked out and moistened them, her eyelids just beginning to droop.

 _Just a bit closer..._

 _Please..._

Wally's just ducked his head ever so slightly when Red Arrow's voice is screeching in her ear. "Kid Flash, are you in position?"

Wally noticeably winces; as usual he has the volume on his communicator up too high, the static squeaking in his ear. At once his hand is off her waist, his finger pressing against a button she can't see but knows is there. "Almost. Give me a minute."

"A minute?" Roy's voice is harsh, crackling between them. Wally cuts the incoming outburst off with another press of a button, forcing radio silence.

She's beginning to get embarrassed; they look slightly ridiculous, standing so close together now that the moment has been broken. She releases his collar a little roughly, avoiding his eye and the wrinkles she's left around his throat. "Guess that's your cue." She says to her feet.

Wally doesn't notice or acknowledge her embarrassment at his closeness; instead, he reaches for her hand, gripping her fingers so tightly in his she can feel the warmth seeping from his gloves. "Yeah." She watches his feet shift so his toes are practically touching hers; when she glances up she can feel the heat from his chest warming the little space between them.

"Can we just—" He cuts himself off, grinning a little sheepishly at her when his voice breaks. "Can we just postpone whatever that was? For a little bit? Because I kind of liked where it was going…"

His voice is still a little ragged, his cheeks flushed with excitement. She wants to laugh at his eagerness, and barely settles for squeezing his hand. "Fine. Go get 'em, Baywatch."

* * *

She gets up to impatiently look out the window the Bioship again, still waiting. She hates staying out of the action, hates keeping out of harm's way—she's never been one for playing the damsel in distress.

She looks for any sign of Wally in the trees, her thoughts still on the private moment they had shared together just an hour before. She wonders what would have happened if Red Arrow hadn't interrupted; wonders what will happen in the quiet hours after the mission when they're alone. She wonders what his mouth will taste like when it's on hers.

She pulls her eyes into focus, caught on a movement in the trees. She squints, her heart speeding up before she can figure out why.

She has enough time to see the glint of the Cheshire Cat's face, the familiar tangle of wild black hair. She feels a sudden burst of joy, the kind of raw happiness she hasn't felt in a while, before her stomach is suddenly flooded with a ragged and painful fear; suddenly she doesn't have time to think, and before she can measure the consequences she's running, her bow in hand.

 _Jade has found her way back._

* * *

She knocks.

And knocks, and knocks, and knocks some more. Bruised knuckles, three times against his door, and the silence that follows not loud enough to drown out the sound of the sai he had dropped at her feet. "Wally." She says in a hushed tone, trying not to wake anyone. She's taps again, the movement sending the cup of tea she's holding jostling slightly, some of the warm liquid spilling over her fingers. "Wally, can we just talk? Please?"

She knows the others are listening, waiting to hear the judgement Wally will pass on her. She also knows that they're all just as angry as he is, knows that nobody will come knocking at her door to provide comfort tonight.

She had lost it. Lost it when she saw Jade, alive and looking like she had never met their mother; lost it when there was an opportunity to follow her. She couldn't help it, she needed to see her sister, they just don't understand—

 _And whose fault is that?_

 _Selfish._

She scrunches her eyes together, knocking again. "Wally." She can hear him moving inside his room. "Wally, Please?"

The door slides open a crack, just big enough for her to see his face; he's glaring at her, his hair still mused and his brows knitted together. Like her he's still in his suit, his cowl pulled back and scrunched at the back of his neck. "What do you want?"

His voice is so hard and malicious that she actually winces, feeling as if he may as well have slapped her clean across the cheek. She holds up the tea. "I made you tea."

"I don't want it." He moves the shut the door but for once she's fast enough, wedging her foot in between the door and the wall, her eyes watering with pain as he slams the edge into her foot.

"Please?" She says quietly, holding it out to him. "Can I just come in?"

 _Please. Please. He needs to let her in like he did before..._

 _...He can't shut her out. She doesn't have anyone else..._

She's begging now, her eyes wide and pleading, her attempt at a smile faltering slightly in face of the glare he sends her, contemptuously glancing down at the cup in her hands. He sniffs, still looking annoyed at her for even existing. Then he moves aside.

She's not even all the way inside his room when he shuts the door, the bottom edge catching on her boot heel and making her nearly yelp in pain. She gets as far as just past the door frame when he steps in front of her, blocking her from going forward and almost pinning her against the wall, as if he's worried about her tarnishing his bedroom with her presence.

She tries to smile at him again, still searching for any of the warmth she once found in his eyes; he just glares back, unreadable. "Tea?" She offers him the cup again.

He takes it, slugging it back so quickly that two streams leak from the corners of his mouth, dripping off his chin and onto the lightning bolt on his chest. Before she can blink in surprise he's finished, pushing the cup back in her hands. "Thank you. Goodbye." He says coldly, already reaching around her to let her out.

"Wally!" She grabs his hand as it flies by her hip, gripping his wrist tightly in her fist. "Can we just—let's just talk okay?"

He twists his wrist roughly in her hand, trying to escape and not being gentle about it. She winces slightly as he pulls a muscle in her forearm; she can hear his teeth grinding against each other, and when he speaks it sounds as if he's struggling not to yell in her face. "I don't have anything to say to you."

She pins his wrist against the doorframe, his bone hitting an edge that makes him hiss under his breath. Before he can free himself she drops the mug between them and grabs his other hand, pinning it to the other side of the door frame; for the first time in a long time she seriously considers beating him into submission, her knee itching to just up and hit him in the gut if that will shock him into being less dramatic.

Instead they both glare at each other, breathing a little heavily; they're just as close as they were on the Bioship, although this time what's passing between them isn't affection. She can feel her breath pouring out of her chest, her breasts heaving up and down and brushing against the taught muscles hidden beneath his uniform. The cup is rolling between their feet, knocking against both their toes. "Clearly," She begins, and he blinks as she breathes hot air into his face. "You do have something to say to me. So spit it out."

Wally presses forward slightly, sending her back flat against the door; she can feel one of his thighs brushing against hers. "Spit it out?" He repeats, and she can tell she's pushed a bit too far; his hands are suddenly twisting more ferociously in hers. "Alright, I'll spit it out. What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?"

He's so loud that she's sure the rest of the Team can hear; he's full out bellowing in her face. "You broke about every rule we have tonight, Artemis. You put everyone in danger, you—you sacrificed everyone's safety for the sake of a little glory. Do you realize how _selfish_ that it? Do you think what we do is some sort of game?"

He's gotten his hands free, and suddenly he's taken a few steps back from her, turning away from her and running his hands through his hair. Her back is still pressed against the door, and suddenly she's too scared to move. When he speaks again, it's in a low and dangerous tone. "I just—I thought I knew you. And I thought we could _trust_ each other, you know? And it's like the longer things go on, the more I realize that... I can't."

 _No._

 _Wally, No._

 _Please..._

She can feel her knees shaking. "It's not like that Wally." She says as quickly as she can, her voice wavering. "You can trust me."

He whirls around on her, his hands grabbing at his hair. "I trusted you not to put us in danger tonight, Artemis. And you did." He stops talking to watch her lips shake, his brows pursing as tears spill over the corners of her eyes. Suddenly he can't look at her, instead furiously addressing the ground. "Maybe Roy was right about you."

 _It's worse, so much worse, hearing him say the words she's always thought about herself... She can't be trusted can she? She'll always be the weak link. She'll never be good enough, never be worthy of him. It's soul crushing, heart stopping, as if every vein in her body is frozen and the only thing she can feel is tears gushing over the fabric of her mask..._

She has one wild impulse left, only one saving grace; she's seen her father do it before during particularly bad fights with her mother, has seen Jade use it to stop furious men in their tracks. She senses she doesn't have much to lose anymore, so when the thought occurs to her she lets it take over her whole being.

She rushes forward while his gaze is dropped, bracing her hands against his jaw. She has enough time to register the widening of his eyes before she presses her lips against his.

Wally makes a little noise of surprise under her, stumbling slightly to catch her weight. He makes the noise again as she tilts his jaw downward to better fit her lips against his, one hand tangling through the mess of his crumpled mask and into his hair. It's wild and desperate and without thinking she pours every bit of herself into it, as if the best parts of her will blossom from her lips and trickle down his throat and remind him that she's not all bad. He tastes like how she imagined: like the walnut smell that's always in the air around him, the lingering sweetness from the tea still on his lips as she runs her tongue over them, forcing his mouth to open under hers. He lets out a ragged breath into her mouth that seems to warm the deepest part of her.

She's kissed boys before, let them press her up against walls and come onto them in the shadowy corners of parties, but she's never kissed a boy like how she's kissed Wally; she's pressing her whole body into him, trying to force him closer, and trying to explain things to him with her body that she could never explain with words. She sucks his lower lip into her mouth and the surprised noise he's been making switches to something low and guttural in the back of his throat; suddenly he dips his head to press against her more surely, his hands reaching out to grip her waist so savagely that she's sure she'll have bruises and _Oh God, she's wanted this for so long_.

He's a bit of a clumsy kisser, his tongue darting out at odd moments and his teeth bumping hers. His hands are pulling her so close that she's nearly flush against his body, and once he finally steadies himself from her sudden weight he's rocked her back a few paces, pressing her against the edge of something, a shelf or a desk, she supposes. He tries to mimic her, his teeth catching on her lips and biting a little too hard, and even though it's imperfect and slightly painful she lets out a moan into his mouth—she's wanted this for so long, too long, and it's making her impatient. He repeats the action and she moans again, the heat in her stomach beginning to coil and twist between her legs, and with one last tug at the back of his head she lets her hands drop to his shoulders, her fingers catching her the contours of his muscles as she rakes her nails down his chest, stopping to press and follow the v-shaped line that leads to the hard point between his legs.

She makes it as far as the seam on his stomach that switches yellow to red when he stops her, yelping slightly and pulling back, He's breathing heavy, his cheeks burning and his eyes excited. Her hands are still hovering around his abdomen, her thumbs pressing and tracing the line about his hips that would lead her to her goal. She watches him glance down at them and shake his head slightly, as if to clear it. "H-hold on Artemis." He stutters. She keeps still.

 _He looks like such a kid in this moment, flush and excited and hers, waiting to be played with._

She's just beginning to think she's made him forget his reasoning behind being angry but then he glances down again, his brows suddenly tight and pursed and staring at her hands. She shifts her pinky slightly, testing the waters and letting the corner of her nail tease a little closer to the hardness that's lurking there. "Artemis." He repeats her name, this time clearly with a warning. She goes still again.

They're mashed up against the bookshelf that's near his door, a rattling sound behind her telling her that they've loosened a few articles on it. She watches as he takes a deep breath, his eyes roaming her body openly, one of his hands bracing against the shelf and the other still on her waist. She watches his eyes trace her figure: the tightness of the kevlar between her legs, the muscles of her abdomen and the jutting of her hip bones above her leggings, the way her breasts are pressed together between her arms, her back arching and thrusting them out, so close to touching him. He lets out a breath that warms the skin of her cheeks, and she has to remind herself to be still.

When he finally gets to looking her in the eye she can still see the traces of excitement on his face; his cheeks are unusually red, his tongue reaching out to moisten his lips. She thinks that he's going to kiss her until a line appears between his brows and he steps back, escaping the hands that are clinging to his hips.

"… Why did you do that?" He asks her, his voice suddenly accusing. His hand is rubbing ferociously at the back of his neck.

She just blinks. "What?" Her voice is still a little husky, and she's half convinced that all she has to do is kiss him again and the fight will truly be over.

She steps closer and he nearly jumps back, as if she's contagious. "Why—I mean, did you think that would make it okay? Like what you did didn't matter anymore?" The honest answer is "yes," and he seems to read it in her silence. He looks truly disgusted with her. "Artemis… That's not…"

He looks like he's struggling to find his words to comprehend how idiotic she is. She simply stands there, feeling suddenly like she's been drained of every blood cell in her body, like whatever is supposed to be sending oxygen to her lungs has suddenly jumped ship, leaving her drowning and alone. He stutters for a few seconds, stopping and starting sentences. "… For _fuck's sake_ , Artemis." He sighs at last. "Let's just not do this. I can't—I can't, okay? Not with you. _I can't keep trying to fix someone who can't be fixed_."

 _... As he says it she knows it's true; she's been thinking it for years. She's dead inside, she's been demolished, nobody can love her, nobody can be with her..._

She feels as if she's been slapped again, one hand actually reaching up to touch her cheek and searching for the stinging sensation of flesh against flesh. At once she can feel her eyes overflowing with tears, her teeth reaching out to bite her lips as they begin to quiver. She can't even look at him.

She senses that he's stopped rubbing the back of his neck, as if horribleness of what he just said is beginning to set in. He's back in front of her, one hand on her shoulder and his voice suddenly panicked. "No. No, Artemis, don't be like that—"

She jerks out of his grasp, not looking at him as tears run fast and fierce down her cheeks. "It's fine." She says as evenly as she can. "Whatever. Let's just pretend this never happened."

She can feel his temper flare up at once, his nails scratching as her skin as he struggles to get grip on her. "Can you just stop being so over dramatic?" He hisses at her. She's already stalking towards his door, throwing his grip off easily. "So that's it, you're leaving? _Artemis?"_ He calls after her as she slams his door in his face.

She doesn't even make it to the zeta tubes before she's sobbing, one of her knuckles digging painfully into her eye in an effort to staunch her crying. So there it is. Artemis: in Kid Flash's loosest definition. _Broken. Unworthy of being fixed._

 _It's true and she knows it. It's always been true._

She think she can hear someone calling for her. She doesn't look back as she punches her code into the zeta tubes, her lips still burning from where she kissed him. She straightens her mask over her eyes and disappears into the night.

* * *

There are still tear tracks on her cheeks when she wanders into her bedroom twenty minutes later, her mask having been ripped off and crumpled at the back of her neck, forcing her head to an odd angle and giving her a head ache. She clicks the bedroom door shut, longing for nothing more than her bed and a dreamless sleep.

She's just let out a sigh, her hands still on the door knob. She inhales the scent of cigarettes.

"Hello, Baby Girl."

All the exhaustion she's been feeling quickly floods out of her, her veins suddenly filled with adrenaline. It's like she's been waiting for this, been waiting for him to surprise her and scare her and for once in her life she's anything but afraid; she wants him to attack her, wants him to hurt her and wants more than anything to have the opportunity to make him bleed. Without thinking she pulls an arrow taught, her teeth bared. "What are you doing here?" She hisses at her father, glaring as the old man leisurely lounges on Jade's old bed.

Lawrence laughs in a low menacing manner, his hand tucked behind his head. "Oh now, was all that League protection supposed to keep me out? That's adorable."

She actually snarls like she's some sort of wild animal, trying to find a fatal part of his body that isn't covered by thick armor. Mentally she places Paula a few rooms over, forcing herself to be quiet in order to keep her mother out of danger; she won't let Paula engage again, won't let Huntress out of her cage. "Get out."

Lawrence makes a move for his pocket, but rather than a weapon he draws his little tin of tobacco and some rolling paper. He flicks back his mask almost casually, as if she wasn't drawing an arrow on him. "Oh, come now, Baby Girl." He says almost affectionately, beginning to place the tobacco in the paper. "Can't a father ask his daughter about her day? How did your little friends react to your failure today?"

He's speaking to her like she's some sort of little kid, his fingers rolling the cigarette tightly together, licking the edges to seal it. He runs the cigarette under his nose and inhales, smirking at her. "Oh, not well? I wonder… With Red Arrow there, do they even have a use for you anymore?"

 _Fuck off._

He's hit her right where it hurts, as he always does. She remains silent, her bow string still taught, watching as he lights the joint, blowing smoke all around her room. "This has been a great pep-talk, Dad." She says through her teeth. "We should do this more often."

He blows out a long drag of smoke, looking at her a little more seriously now. "Oh, but we can Baby Girl. I've come here with a proposition for you."

She tenses. "...What is it?"

Lawrence rests the cigarette between two fingers, getting to his feet. "I'm going to be straight with you, Baby. I'm getting tired of us not being a family affair." He takes another long drag, this time blowing smoke at the Alice and Wonderland poster she's had since she was a girl. "Jade told me what happened the last time she was here, and I've seen enough for myself. You're good, Artemis. Real good."

 _... What?_

She can feel her muscles slacking, her arrow dropping and pointing to the floor. She's a little shocked at this sudden omission, and he gives her a few seconds to recover before he resumes talking. "I miss you, Baby. And I miss your Mom too. I'm just trying to figure out a way for us to be a family again."

 _…_ _A family again._

He's saying everything she's always wanted to hear, his fingers outing the cigarette against her window sill. This is it; her chance to make things right. To fix the damage she's done… When he looks at her again she can actually see a bit of remorse there, a little bit of hope. Her stomach clenches.

 _He's giving her a way back, an opportunity to fix all the mistakes she's ever made... She can bring the family together, can fix a marriage, can see her sister and talk to her without fear of blood or death or fighting... They can all sit on the couch together and laugh and love each other, and that made up memory can be more real to her than anything else..._

 _... Have the last few months with the Team meant nothing to her?_

 _Wally... M'gann... Dick... They're her friends..._

 _... Well, not anymore. Not after tonight..._

"I… I don't know, Dad. I don't know if I can."

She sounds pathetic when she says it, and at once he's crossed the room. She winces slightly as he raises his hand, his palm hard and rough against her cheek as he cups her face. "I'm just looking out for you, Artemis. I don't want those League guys pushing my baby around." He pulls at her chin, adjusting her like he used to, making her look more dangerous and threatening than she really is. "I don't like what they're doing to you, trying to replace you with that Red Arrow. Nobody replaces a Crock."

 _Nobody replaces a Crock._

He hugs her, hard and quick, and the feeling is so alien to her that she doesn't quite know what to do with herself; she keeps her arms awkwardly at her sides until he releases her. "You belong with us. Me, and Jade. We can protect Paula, take care of her together. _We're a family_." He holds her at an arm's length, giving her a familiar cold look. "I want it back. It's about time I stepped up again, start taking care of you and your mother the way I should have all along."

 _He could be a real father again. Maybe._

He seems to read some of the hesitation in her face, his palm tight when it grips her shoulder. "Listen Baby Girl, you were born for this kinda life. It's in your blood. And you can fight me, you can fight Jade… But you can't fight who you are. You can't fight us being a family. Families need to be together."

She looks away from him, watching out of the corner of her eyes as he retreats to the window and his still smoking cigarette. He picks it up and places it between his lips. "Think about it, alright? I wouldn't want you to miss an opportunity like this… For us to be together again."

She watches him out the window, shaking. She can't remember being so genuinely scared in her whole life.

* * *

She doesn't tell a soul about Sportsmaster or his offer.

She tries her best to act as normally as she can around the Team, but the ever present fact that she was responsible for their last failure seems to be weighing over all their heads; everyone is treating her like she's deliberately infected them with some sort of disease and she spends as little time around the Cave as possible for the next few days, avoiding the accusing looks they send her. She begins to wonder is she really has been replaced, especially when she catches Roy laughing easily with Kaldur and Connor.

She feels about ten times worse when Wally ignores her completely, avoiding her eyes during training and refusing to bring up her name in conversation with the others. With a certain amount of bitterness she starts to consider her father's proposition.

The first to start talking to her normally again are predictably Zatanna and M'gann, who were neither present for her reckless actions nor are really ones for holding grudges; besides, they can hardly resist her when she walks in on the two of them (painting each other's toes, of all the _goddamn_ things) and announces to the room at large, "I blew it with Wally."

She's immediately heard wrong and Zatanna bursts out laughing. "You did what to Wally?"

Just like that, everything is fine.

"Zatanna!" M'gann is caught between being horrified and amused, and wordlessly she's waving Artemis over, handing her a bottle of polish before she can even sit down. She resigns to telling them the whole ugly story, even if it involves painting her nails a gaudy shade of magenta.

When she finishes she automatically glances to Zatanna, who tends to think more on her wave length in these sort of things; she feels her stomach drop slightly at the look on her face. "So I really blew it then?" She asks dryly. The corner of her big toe is smudged.

Zatanna shrugs slightly. "I don't know. Wally's a hard one to read."

She turns to M'gann, who looks cheerful despite the bleak account of her first kiss with the boy in question. "Well…" The way she stretches out the word isn't a good sign. "It's hard. I mean, it was kind of romantic, right? Kissing him to clear his head? But—"

"But I'm an idiot and screw up everything I touch?"

M'gann grins a little sheepishly as she finishes her sentence for her. "… Not exactly?"

She lets the other two analyze the details for a few more minutes, not really paying attention. She's longing to talk to Jade; she always knew more about boys than her, knew the perfect way to get a guy wrapped around her finger. Now that she knows for sure she's alive she's been catching herself craving some much needed sister-on-sister time, something she knows she won't ever really get.

She waits until her toes are dried before excusing herself, suddenly not really caring if anyone in the Cave tolerates her at all.

* * *

It takes a few more days before everyone, minus Wally, is talking to her normally again. It's odd; now that she has their attention back she finds she has no desire to have it, and she finds herself seeking solitude if she even goes to the Cave at all.

An odd memory comes bubbling to the surface of her mind, forgotten over the years they've been apart; somewhere along the line she remembers Jade ignoring her, not speaking to her for days on end over something trivial ( _Crock women hold notorious grudges_ ) and finally breaking her silence when Artemis was nearly hit by a car while they were walking home together. She gets it into her mind that if she's in enough trouble Jade will come and find her, will come rescue her. On that note she starts getting reckless, putting herself into the line of danger more often on their missions than strictly necessary. She bleeds a lot more and gains a few new scars.

Robin pulls her aside in the back room of the Bioship after a particularly rough mission—or at least, rough for her. Everyone else seems to get out oddly unscathed, yet she's covered in odd bumps and bruises, her jaw slightly swollen from receiving a punch. He watches her bandage her hands, blood trickling from a swollen and bruised knuckle.

"How are you doing?" Is how he chooses to begin what turns out to be a well-planned interrogation; or at least that's what she gets the impression of it being as he sits down opposite from her on the make shift bunk.

She rips a bandage with her teeth, awkwardly tucking the edge into itself and grinning at him. "Fine. Takes more than a few bumps and bruises to get me down."

His mouth tenses at the way she causally gestures to her mangled body. "You sure have been getting a lot of those lately." He pauses, as if waiting for her to reply. "Everything okay?"

"Everything is great." She shrugs easily. The movement makes her shoulder ache.

Robin's head tilts slightly, and she can tell from the tightness in his jaw that he doesn't believe her. "You sure?"

"Positive."

He hesitates and then throws caution to the wind, rushing onwards into a sentence that sound pre-planned. "Look, we've all noticed something's up. You're all over the place in battle—it's not like you, pursuing multiple targets with no real plan, throwing yourself into the thick of things. Wally wanted me to ask—"

She cuts him short, narrowing her eyes to let him know she means business. "If Wally has anything to say to me he can tell me himself."

Robin glares at her behind his mask. "Fine." There's a long pause in which they both glare at each other, sizing the other one up. "So. Friday night. You got any plans? M'gann was thinking a movie night."

"Sorry." She shrugs, brushing him off easily with one of the lies she's started using every time someone asks to see her. "I have plans with some old friends. Maybe next time."

She goes back to tending her knuckles, tightening the bandages. He doesn't say anything back.

* * *

 **AN: Another update! I can't remember who asked it, but a few of you were wondering if I was going to continue being as canon as possible to the first season, and in response I'm saying an overwhelming YES! I've spent months doing research and watching the first season religiously, it would be borderline blasphemy for me to suddenly veer off now.**

 **Just out of curiosity: Would any of you be interested in seeing a companion piece to this one, focusing instead on Wally's backstory and POV? Or would you rather I just go ahead and write a straight sequel, managing the years in between season 1 and 2? Let me know!**

 **Review please!**


	11. 10: Almosts

**AN: Enjoy.**

* * *

She dreams of Jade night after night; dreams of her ebony hair and the smell of sweet grass like the plains in Vietnam. She tastes old malt liquor on her tongue from a long lost memory of her childhood ( _she had mistaken her glass for her sister's, had sipped something that wasn't hers to drink; there's the stinging of a hand on her cheek and a whispered threat and suddenly the glassiness of Jade's eyes has a new meaning and God, she doesn't look a day over fourteen and yet her sister is already a drunk)_ and without thinking she turns where she knows the empty bed is sitting, waiting for her eyes to crack open in the night and looking upon it, disappointed.

She senses something new and dangerous lurking inside her, and this time when she opens her eyes in the moonlight the lunacy lying dormant in her genes overtakes her all together, and in a haze she comes up with her stupidest idea yet. She throws off her covers without thinking of consequences.

She has to dig through a few drawers to find it, a forgotten keepsake that's been hidden away between book pages, but it doesn't take long before she finds the fake ID her sister used to use all those years ago. The hair color is wrong and it says she should be twenty three and about ten pounds heavier, but it'll do the job she needs it to do like it did for Jade all those years ago.

She's dressed to attract trouble; she's wearing a pair of jeans that is a few sizes too small, her tank top one of Jade's old ones that shows too much skin. She's even smudged a bit of make up on her face, the cheap black eyeliner beginning to smear under her eyes, her lipstick sticking to the rim of her glass.

She sits at the bar and orders the grossest thing she can find on the menu: straight whiskey, no ice. She hates it, hates that it reeks like her sister.

She doesn't know why she snuck out without Paula's permission in the dead of the night; doesn't know why she's passed up a perfectly good night with her friends in exchange for an uncomfortable bar stool and the lewd looks of some much older men sitting in a booth in the corner. All she knows is that trouble attracts Jade, and if she can get herself in deep enough she'll finally see her sister.

 _She gets it in her head that if she can tempt fate enough, can get in just enough trouble to catch death's eye, Jade will come. Jade will save her._

She decides to wink at one of the guys at the booth. Someone orders her another round of her disgusting drink, and she's forced to glance back at the creeps over her shoulder, toasting to them.

 _Come on, Jade. Notice her._

She's halfway through the bought glass when a few of the older guys wander over, sitting a few stools down from her at the bar. She's starting to feel the effects of the liquor; beginning to feel slightly light headed and flirtatious. They strike up an odd sort of conversation with her, and it occurs to her that they aren't bad looking—there's five of them and only one of her but she can still kick their asses if they start to get handsy. She flirts her way to another gross free drink and gets the first one paid for.

 _... She'll come. Jade always comes back._

 _Even death couldn't keep her despite Huntress' best attempts, what's a little snow and dive bar to stop her..._

Nearly another drink later and one of the guys has sat down on the stool beside her, beginning to tell some sob story about his children that he doesn't realize are her age, one of his hands attempting to move from the back of her chair to her thigh. She keeps checking the door, waiting. Hoping, a little pathetically.

 _... Maybe..._

She's drunk now, and one of the older guys has started tugging at her arm; she can't quite tell if he wants her to sit on his lap or go somewhere with her. Either way she can feel his stubby nails clawing at her arm, leaving faint scratches as another one of the older men shoves her fourth drink into her hands. She's been drinking straight liquor all night.

 _... Jade?_

She can feel herself beginning to panic; it's nearly three in the morning now and the combination of her exhaustion from the day and the alcohol is starting to take its effect. She's blinking rapidly, trying to clear her head and the fogginess that's sitting at the front of it. She tells the guy trying to pull her onto his lap that she needs to make a call. She grabs her wallet and her cellphone and stumbles off the stool, somewhat aware of the jeering behind her.

The women's bathroom is grimy but thankfully only allows one occupant at a time, although it does take her a few moments of struggling with the lock to grant herself some much needed isolation. Everything in the room seems to be covered with some sort of greasy dirt: the toilet itself is a murky brown color, the walls covered with layers of scribbled graffiti. She catches her reflection in a cracked mirror about the sink.

"Fuck." She says out loud.

The girl looking at her doesn't look like the strong, invulnerable Artemis she knows she is; the girl she sees is clearly underage and drunk, her long blonde hair no longer shiny but looking rather scraggly in the fluorescent lighting. Her make-up is smearing and no longer flattering, her clothes hanging off her at awkward angles. She can see her own bloodshot eyes beginning to water, leaving long tracks of mascara down her cheeks.

 _She's not coming._

 _She'll never come back for her._

It's like she's a little girl again, always counting on Jade to rescue her, always following her sister from one step behind. Except this time she's been an idiot, thinking that Jade will show up and protect her, will show up and be the older sister she's always wanted. She can hear Jade now, looking menacing for such a young teenager. _In this family it's every girl for herself._

She's beginning to get dizzy, beginning to grow unsteady on her feet; there's no way in hell she can go back out there, no way she can be alone with those guys anymore. If they try anything funny with her she's in no state to fight back. She slides down the grimy wall, her too tight jeans stretching against her thighs and slicing into her skin as her breathing picks up.

She left one of her favorite jackets—old, supple leather, a nice brown color— hanging off the edge of her bar stool, the dampness of the bathroom beginning to make her shiver. It takes her drunken fingers too long to extract her cellphone from her pocket, and she realizes that she's not shivering from the cold; she's shaking, full out shaking with panic and self loathing and hatred for her sister for not finding her. It's childish and pathetic and she swallows thickly, trying to keep her manic at bay. She can't afford to lose it on top of being drunk too.

She hesitates, scrolling through her contacts. Her first instinct is, humiliatingly, to call Wally, but he still isn't listed in her phone and checking her call history doesn't help—she's missed calls from a few different random numbers, all the digits blurring together in her drunken state and making it nearly impossible to identify anything. She goes back into her contacts, scrolling.

 _Robin (is a Dick)_

She hesitates, then hits the call button. He answers after two rings. "Hello?" He sounds slightly groggy, as if she's woken him up from sleep. She supposes she probably has.

"Remember when you asked me if I was okay?" She charges on, not identifying herself and simply trusting that he'll either recognize her voice or be smart enough to check his call ID.

There's a muffled noise through the speaker. "Artemis?"

"Well, I'm not." She focuses all her energy on not slurring, but she knows she sounds drunk—her voice is unnaturally high pitched, more feminine than she's sounded in years. She can hear the static through the phone. "I need to call in another favor."

"Where are you?" He sighs. She hesitates, because she's not entirely sure, and he seems to read her mind. "Not important, I'll track the call. Have you been drinking?"

She supposes it's best to be honest. "Yes." She looks around at the grimy walls. "And I'm stuck in the women's bathroom with at least four old creeps on the other side of the door."

She can hear some background noise, as if he's getting dressed. "Night out with your friends got pretty crazy then?"

She grits her teeth and blows a stray piece of hair out of her mouth. "Yes." She lies, and she knows that he can sense somewhere in her voice that he's not supposed to ask questions. "How soon can you get here?"

"10 minutes, maybe." She hears the sound of his door opening and closing. "Do you have an exit point in there? A window?"

She spots a tiny window pane over the toilet that can easily be broken, and tells him so. "But I don't have a jacket, Robin. I left it at my chair."

"I'll be there soon. Break the window and get out of there as soon as you can. And make sure to keep your cell phone on you." He hangs up on her without saying goodbye.

She's a little more wobbly than she should be, but somehow she manages to maneuver herself on top of the back of the toilet. Having the illusion of a goal is oddly helping her stay sober, at least until she faces the tiny pane of glass that may as well be impenetrable. Then she nearly cries.

 _She's so pathetic._

 _... She's also so drunk..._

She doesn't have much to work with in the bathroom, and after a moment's debate she jumps off the back of the toilet, landing awkwardly on her feet. Then she spots the toilet seat.

* * *

"Out of all the things I've ever seen you do, I think that was the most terrifying."

Robin's been in a state of excited shock for nearly twenty minutes now, still reeling over her escape from the bathroom; he had arrived just in time to see her bang against the washroom's window a few times with the toilet seat she had detached from the bowl with sheer force, finally smashing it after the third or fourth blow and sending glass raining down on the street and following shortly after, stumbling into a pile of snow and somehow managing to not look completely incompetent. One of her finer moments, apparently.

"Hmm." She replies dryly. She's still slightly dizzy; the motorcycle ride through Gotham had forced whatever liquor left in her stomach out with few objections on her part, the lingering burning sensation still sounding in her throat and doing little to help her cope with her light headedness and heart burn. Now that she's safe and in her room at the Cave with a ridiculous amount of food and water she's hardly in the mood to recount their latest adventure. She gets the impression that this is the first of many rebellious things Robin will do in his life and that's he's more than excited to be included in her happenings.

He spins in her desk chair, stopping himself by placing a foot out to catch the edge of her bed. "This is one for the history books. No—wedding material." He shakes his head, he glasses tottering slightly on the edge of his nose. "I'm whelmed. Truly."

She snorts slightly when he mentions weddings and he cocks at brow. "Speaking of weddings, how are you and Wally?"

She strategically shoves another handful of whatever flavored chips were in the cupboard into her mouth, giving him a non-committal shrug. Immediately she can see the slight change in his posture, the way he seems to come down from his high; suddenly he's leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees, no longer the carefree kid spinning in her chair.

"I see." He presses his thumbs together. "Is he why you've been acting so strange lately?"

The question is mostly shy but still with the same edge of interrogation, and she forces herself to swallow and ignore the scratching and burning food dripping down her throat. "No." She says stubbornly.

 _It's the truth_ , she tells herself as she stares him down, refusing to drop his eye even though his are hidden by his glasses. She's _not_ doing this because of Wally. She's doing it because she's starting to not care about what happens with the Team, starting to look forward to making up for lost time with her family, starting to get tired of being treated like an outside no matter where she goes. She's being given the chance to make things right, to bond her family tighter than they have been in years—the longer she thinks about it, the more she knows it's the right thing to do. She'll quit the team. She's quit being a hero and being a villain, for once she'll have the chance to just be—be a sister, be a daughter. She'll just be plain _Artemi_ s, with two parents who love her and a sister who just might too.

Something shifts in Robin's jaw and she can tell he's not looking at her anymore, his thumbs releasing each other. "I'm worried about you." He finally says. "You aren't acting like yourself. You spend half your time these days trying to get beaten to a pulp, and the other half we all hardly see you. And then—the call tonight—you're my friend, Artemis. One of my best. And I don't want to see anything happen to you."

She stares at him as he stares at his hands.

For the first time in a while she considers telling him as much of the truth as she can. "I'm sorry, Dick." She uses his civilian name because it feels much more soothing on her lips, not the alias she saves for dire situations on the battle field. "I'm just… I'm having a hard time. I've been thinking… Maybe I'm just not cut out for all this."

He glances up at her and he knows she isn't telling the full truth; one of Dick's many gifts is the fact that he can always read her a little more closely than she wants to. "Cut out for all of this? Or just the being a _hero_ part?"

She knows that at the very least he has suspicions about her past, knows that there's something evil and dark inside her lying just below the surface, waiting for the chance to be released again...

 _She won't let that happen._

She feels her mouth go tight. "All of it." She says honestly. "I'm sorry Dick."

He nods at her, then gets abruptly to his feet—for one wild moment she thinks he's going to storm out, furious, but then he crashes down beside her, sending her whole bed jostling. He lies still beside her in the most platonic way she can imagine, nearly a foot of distance between them with his arms tucked behind his head. From this angle she can see his eyes blinking behind his glasses, his eyelashes almost touching the frames.

"I'm going to miss you." He says after a while, and it's the most honest thing she's ever heard. "It's going to be weird, seeing you only at school."

She rolls onto her back, her mind beginning to become unfogged. "I'll miss you too."

They both stare at the ceiling for a while, in silence so long that she actually begins to nod off. Somewhere beside her she hears Dick whisper. "Just promise you'll hold off on the whole retirement thing for a bit okay? Until the New Year? I have a mission in the works, I want you in on it…"

She hears herself agree.

* * *

"Are you kidding?" She jerks awake when she hears Wally's voice, sounding distraught and slightly angry. Her head is aching and Dick is no longer beside her. It's still dark in her bedroom.

"Wally, shut up. You'll wake her."

"Wake her? Who are you, her mother?" She listens to the two boys argue outside her door, feeling sore from her trip out the window.

"Calm down. She's going through a rough time. Cut her some slack, Kid—"

"Slack? Since when do you cut anyone any slack?"

There's a scuffle, as if Wally's trying to get inside. "Look, will you make yourself useful? Go get her some water."

There's more scuffling and a silence in which she falls asleep again. When she wakes up a few hours later her room smells like walnuts and there's a glass of cold water on her bedside table.

* * *

She manages to slip out of the Cave without bumping into anyone unexpectedly. She's hungover but despite everything all she wants to do is move, to run, to forget the embarrassment and pain of the night before. She doesn't have much in the way of clothing around the Cave, but before she leaves she manages to throw on a couple of sweaters, hoping the layers will save her from the cold the same way her long lost jacket would have.

She arrives in the familiar back alley of Gotham via zeta, the snow falling heavily from the tops of the murky buildings. Hm. _New Years hits and she'll be out._

She has mixed feelings at best, but the more she's thinking about it the more she's realizing that she would be fighting a losing battle, forcing herself to stay any longer. Red Arrow is right and so is her father: she doesn't _belong_ on the Team. They'll be better off without her, stronger even. She belongs with her family, keeping them together like she's always wanted to.

She wonders what will happen when she leaves. She knows Robin will keep the information that she's leaving quiet—that kid is all secrecy and lies—but she's still not excited to see the look on everyone's faces when she tells them. She wonders who will look disappointed and who will just look relieved.

She passes the window of a gas station and she can't resist popping in, even just to warm up for a few minutes under the guise of wandering through the aisles. It's getting close to Christmas now; she wonders if M'gann will throw some sort of Christmas party for the Team, wonders if it will be filled with all the clichés she's seen in the holiday movies: Secret Santa, candy canes, mistletoe. She feels oddly disconnected from the celebrations as if they're already something she's remembering.

Her eyes catch at the ridiculous collection of pathetic looking last minute gifts, focusing on a rather red mug. She realizes that The Flash has released his own line of lame looking coffee mugs.

She doesn't think before grabbing it, doesn't think when she hands the annoyed looking cashier the small amount of cash in her wallet. She watches him with a weird type of ferocity as he wraps the mug in extra pieces of paper, making sure it won't crack if dropped, not feeling anything other than curiosity as to whether or not Wally will like it.

* * *

She makes it about twenty steps outside of the gas station door when her phone starts ringing. She half expects it to be Robin, maybe even Wally, and feels her brows tense when she reads the caller ID.

 _Unknown Caller (Unknown)_

Her ears are already beginning to hurt from the cold, the metal of her phone stinging slightly as she presses it against her exposed skin. "Hello?" She asks the air in front of her.

She hears a low and dangerous chuckle and at once her feet stop moving. "Look behind you."

She whirls on her toes, feeling ridiculous for automatically shielding her present for Wally behind her back—she doesn't have anything else to defend herself, she's already seen just how dangerous a simply cup can be, it's just a stupid Flash cup, who cares—and feels her pupils dilate, as if hoping to see the threat before it materializes.

Jade smirks at her, clicking her phone shut and replacing it in the pocket of her coat.

 _The Cheshire Cat always comes back._

She looks oddly like every other girl in Gotham, her hair curling and frizzing under a worn baseball cap and the bottoms of her jeans wet with snow. The same unexpected and threatening wave of relief and affection runs through her, the same one she felt when she saw her a few weeks ago, kissing Red Arrow. Her sister, alive and breathing, walking down the street. It's all very surreal and exactly what she's been craving.

Jade tilts her chin back, as if to survey her over the tip of her nose. "You can stop pretending like you're going to attack me." She sneers. "Relax. I have no quarrel with you—not now, at least."

She can't help but glance down at herself, her feet spread and her muscles clenched, ready for a fight that isn't coming. She straightens herself, forcing a glare to her face. "How did you get that number? It's supposed to be for League members only." Jade scoffs, the sound in the back of her throat saying all she needs to— _Please Artemis. I'm not an amateur_ —so she changes her question. "Why do you have that number?"

Jade shrugs. "Never know when it will come in handy."

They survey each other for a second or two, just long lost sisters who happened upon each other on the street. Then Jade glances down at the plastic bag in her hand. "You on a cigarette run for Mom?"

The question is too normal, too much like their childhood, and it puts a bad taste in her mouth to answer. "No. Mom stopped smoking in prison." Jade nods, and so does she. The snow is starting to seep through her boots. "... I've been wanting to see you, actually. After Thanksgiving."

"I don't need a kid like you checking in on me. I can take care of myself." Jade taunts, her face tight and sneering and cruel for a few seconds before she uncharacteristically softens, the usual Huntress styled drawl dropping from her voice. "... Dad told me he came to talk to you." A pause. "Are you going to do it?"

One of the plastic handles is digging so hard into her hand that the sensation overrides the numbness of the cold. "I don't know. Maybe." It's one of the first honest things she's said to her sister in years. Jade is watching her face carefully, one of her brows raising when she says what she does next. "Would you want me to? After everything that happened? Would you want me and mom around more?"

Jade shrugs, glaring at the ground. "I don't care, Baby Girl."

"... But we're your family."

"Artemis, I haven't had a real family in years." Jade's eyes are off the pavement and glaring at her, grey and steely and more terrifying without the mask hiding them. "... I don't know what to tell you." The wind catches a piece of straggly hair, and Jade spits it out of her mouth. "... Depends, I guess... On you. You got much to lose?"

She shrugs, and the bag digs into her hand harder.

"… Don't be weird about this, okay? But— Listen. We're having a rendezvous with a couple big timers on a few days after Christmas. If you're serious, I'll take you along so you can get a feel of what you're getting into." The Huntress drawl is back up and running, and so is the stiffening of her jaw into what looks like a rare smile. "See if you're still capable of handling the family business. Look for my call... It's not often I make an exception to my every-girl-for-herself rule."

In a way that seems almost eerily familiar Jade smirks and turns her back on her, beginning to disappear as usual. She can't stop herself—it's so rare that she sees Jade without one of them attacking the other, and she has a feeling that she won't have another chance. She takes a few clumsy steps forward. "Wait! Wait—"

Jade stops like she's been waiting for this. "What?"

She has a thousand words at the front of her mind— _I love you, be safe, why are you always fucking leaving me?_ —but she trusts the safest and maybe the stupidest ones on her lips. "I need boy advice."

She clutches the plastic bag tighter into her fist when Jade laughs, full and much younger than what Cheshire would allow. It takes her only a few seconds to compose herself, her chin dipping and her eyes glaring at her, hard. "You want advice? Stay the _fuck_ away from them."

She opens her mouth to argue, to talk about Red Arrow and how much of a hypocrite she can be sometimes. Without warning the snow starts falling faster and thicker, and just like the Cheshire Cat...

Jade is gone.

* * *

"… And Artemis, don't get me started on Artemis."

She pauses in the hallway, her muscles tensing. She can hear Black Canary's voice floating through the hallway, cut off abruptly by a masculine chuckle. She presses herself closer to the doorway that leads through to the counsellor's office.

"Oh yeah? What's got her goat this time?" She hears Oliver ask. There's the shifting of paper work against a desk.

"Nothing, that's the problem. I thought that after everything she'd be more inclined to talk, more eager to… But nothing. Every time she sits across from me it's like some sort of ridiculous game of pass the present, and just when I think I've finally unwrapped her I discover another layer…"

A slight pause. "She's a tough girl, Dinah. She's not going to come around as easily as the others."

There's some more shifting of paper, and when Canary speaks again it sounds as if she's reading from a file. "Artemis Lian Crock: Anxiety disorder. Possible PTSD. Unwilling to disclose emotions or interact with others unless hostile." There's a loud sigh. "I don't know what to do, Oliver. I'm worried about her. She needs to start a healing process, otherwise… She needs to initiate it herself, soon. I'm so worried…"

She jerks her head back when she hears a low coo from Oliver, signaling the beginnings of a comforting speech. She stiffens and walks on.

* * *

It's the 20th of December. Wally hasn't talked to her in nearly 15 days.

She's getting tired of the silent treatment, getting tired of trying to catch his eye every time they're forced to materialize in the same room for training. Since her first day at the Cave she's been in almost constant communication with him, even if that communication was somewhat strained at times; it's so weird, now, for her to look at him and not know what to say.

She wishes she hadn't kissed him. It had been stupid, impulsive as all her mistakes are. She can hardly look at him now without feeling his lips on hers, hearing the small groan he had let out as she bit his lip. She had woken the other night with her fingers between her legs and the imagined smell of walnuts in the air; she had to throw herself out of bed and open her window to the Gotham winter before her skin would cool down.

She's ruined everything and can't figure out to get things back to the way they were.

It's a last ditch attempt, designed to soften him and to preserve some of her dignity if that's still possible. She hasn't even bothered to wrap it, the Flash themed coffee mug still coiled in tissue paper and a _Quick Run_ plastic bag. She's already decided that regardless of how things end between her and the rest of the Team, she's determined to leave on good terms with Wally.

She places it in front of his door before she knocks. For the first time (maybe ever) she's gone before he can make an appearance.

 _To Wally,_

 _Happy early Christmas, or whatever._

 _-Artemis_

* * *

 _…_ _4… 5…_

She's just taken a break in her reps when she catches Robin's eye in the mirror. With a slight grunt she lowers the dumbbell from her fist to the floor of the training room, smirking at his reflection. "Dick." She nods at him, wiping a bead of sweat that's running down her temple.

He leans against the doorway to the training room, looking oddly excited despite the fact that he's pretending to scroll through his phone. "Artemis."

He keeps scrolling, his thumb moving too quickly to actually be doing anything. She can feel herself frowning and almost expectantly she turns to face him, her hands flying to her hips. "Any reason you're lurking around here in particular? Or can I get on with my work out?"

Robin jerks his head slightly, the florescent lights catching on the lenses of his glasses and flashing at her. "Just got word from Bats himself, that mission I told you about? It's a go." The corner of his mouth jerks up in an almost child-like way, and she can't help but smile back. "Shower and get ready, we leave in an hour. It's undercover, I'll leave your mission attire in your locker."

She rubs again at the sweat on her brow. "Sure."

* * *

If there's one thing she loves in this world, it's a warm shower.

She suppose it's just part of the symptoms of growing up the way she did, an occupational hazard of being Artemis. Years of acquired knowledge regarding firearms, fighting styles, and survival skills, and yet the most important thing she's learned? _Never_ turn down a shower, before or after a mission. _You never know where you'll end up, what you'll be messing with, and how long it will be before you manage to get properly clean again._ She presses her body back against the cool tile of the shower stall, the steam whirling up so thick around her it's almost hard to breathe; she likes her showers scalding, to the point that her skin feels like it's boiling off her bones.

She likes the intimacy of being alone with her thoughts, like standing still until the water runs cold. She tilts her head slightly, feeling a slightly thicker stream fall across her forehead, running down her cheek and between her breasts.

Like many showers before this she's still stuck on Wally, this time the fact that he's yet to even acknowledge the fact that she got him a Christmas present. A rather shitty one, to be fair, but she knows that idiot has a sentimental side; it wouldn't be like him to toss it without even bringing it up.

The thought of him alone is beginning to get her slightly warm about the cheeks in a way that has nothing to do with the water; she has to clench her fists to her side to keep her fingers from wandering between her legs. She needs to keep herself together, she has a mission to go on. She can't be thinking of red headed idiots, can't be stressing over a goddamn Christmas present—she needs to focus…

… The way his hand had pressed against her waist, pulling her close until they were flush against each other, all muscles and hips and tension… Without knowing it she's shifted under the water, an unexpected stream hitting the sensitive point between her legs.

She grits her teeth and reaches for the tap, turning it to cold.

* * *

"For fuck's sake."

It takes her a while to dry her hair and get into her designated mission attire, which turns out to be something she expects would only be appropriate at a really slutty circus; she has to wrestle herself into a white spandex suit that barely holds her breasts in place, complete with both poorly sewn in ruffles and cartoonish flames. When she looks at herself in the mirror she can't help swearing.

She feels ridiculous, her frustration with Dick only mounting when she discovers the last piece of the ensemble—a flimsy tie-around mask that looks as if it was bought at a dollar store. She's beginning to think this is his idea of a sick joke when she tries and fails multiple times to get the mask to sit evenly on her eyes without bothering the knot of her pony tail.

"What the _hell_ are you doing in here?"

She bites her tongue, which has been about to utter another colorful curse and glances around wildly, her cheeks reddening when she realizes Wally is hovering awkwardly around the door way. She supposes she's been practically screaming for the last quarter of an hour; between attempting to fit the entirety of her body into her suit and nearly burning her scalp with the amount of hot air she had to produce from the hairdryer to get her hair in working order, she's surprised someone didn't come running before now.

He has an odd sort of expression on his face, like he's caught between hilarity and his own annoyance at her; he's struggling to keep his lips from quirking up as he surveys her with a stony face, the look reminding her of the one he sent her after they kissed and doing nothing to relieve the wanting that's pooling in her belly. "Sorry." She mutters, blushing.

She's aware that the cheap white spandex is leaving a lot less to the imagination than her regular kelvar suit does; unlike her uniform the circus-like suit is uncomfortably tight in some places. She crosses her arms in attempt at modesty that nearly sends his eyes bugging; with a glance down, she realizes she's only made her breasts pop out further. She watches Wally's eyes quickly switch from her chest to the wall, his ears reddening. "What—uh—what's going on?"

The question catches her off guard; she had been expecting him to leave almost immediately. She catches herself twisting the cheap mask in her hand, struggling to keep her face as impassive as possible. "Robin's called me out for a mission."

His eyes finally leave the wall, one brow quirked and sending her a sheepish smile. "… Dressed like that?"

It's such a ridiculous relief, seeing his lips stretch into a grin; after such a long absence it nearly makes her knees tremble. She wants to run across the room, wants the throw herself at him like she did before—instead she smirks, uncrossing her arms and shrugging her shoulders, gesturing hopelessly to herself. "Your guess is as good as mine on this one, Kid."

He takes a few steps closer under the pretext of investigating further; it's the closest they've been since their kiss, the only exception being sparring training where his touch on her waist had been enough to nearly shut her down, the only time he had almost beaten her. He's standing nearly three feet from her, well out of the range of her arms, as if he's afraid she'll grab him. He gestures at her legs, smirking at the flames and frills. "I'd say circus prostitute."

She nearly rolls her eyes out of her head. "Couldn't just be a circus performer, could it? I had to be a circus prostitute."

Wally's brows shoot up and his hand gestures of its own accord. "Well, with an outfit like that…"

She has the strong urge to hit him and has to force herself to remain rooted in place; she's not quite sure where she stands with Wally, not sure if it would be too much too quick to reach out and smack him. She settles for baring her teeth and leering at him like some sort of animal. "Watch it, West."

The fact that she's a bit annoyed seems to egg him on, the way it used to when they would tease each other all hours of the day. He smirks a bit and leans forward, tilting his head slightly and looking her up and down. "Hm. I feel like it needs something." In answer she holds up the flimsy mask, and a full out smile crosses his face. "Oh boy. _Please_ put that on."

She looks at him for a half a second, the same look Jade sent her the other day; her jaw tilted downwards, surveying him. She doesn't even give herself time to think before she turns to face the mirror above a sink, her fingers beginning to tie a knot that hopefully doesn't fall to pieces at the bump of her pony tail. _God_ , she has it bad for this boy.

Wally's watching her in the mirror, still standing a few paces behind her; after her first few attempts to tie the mask she begins to swear under her breath again, and after almost ten she's red in the face, nearly cursing at the top of her lungs. She can see his smile getting wider every time she sets it on her face crooked, the eyeholes matching up with her brows more than her pupils.

He lets out a chuckle and she nearly loses it all together, her cheeks burning. "What's your problem, Baywatch?" She sneers at him, another attempt at a knot failing.

Wally laughs at her, openly and slightly meanly. "How are you so bad at this? I mean, aren't girls supposed to be better at tying bows and stuff?"

The comment sends a rush of hot and angry blood to her cheeks, and she whirls round to face him, snarling. "Fine! If it's so easy, you do it!"

For a second he eyes the now crinkled mask she's thrust at him; it's another challenge between them, another thing one of them has to win. She can see the calculation going on behind his eyes, can see him weighing the odds in his favor. Then his mouth twitches and he dons a confident smile. "Fine."

She should have known better; for a moment they simply glare at each other, both determined to be the lone victor in this new game they're playing. She's just convinced herself that she can do this—after all, it's _Wally_ —when he crosses the few paces and grabs the mask from her hand, his fingers brushing against hers.

It's the tiniest touch, her forefinger against his, and yet it sends what feels like fire through her veins. All at once the confident looks falls from both their faces and she's aware of the fact that the sink is behind her and he's in front of her—if he wants he could kiss her right now, press her into the sink and just _grab at her_ and she wouldn't stop him— She can see something shift in Wally's eyes, can see his Adam's apple bob slightly as he swallows. She knows he's thinking it, knows that he's thinking about the kiss too. Without thinking, she moistens her lips.

She watches Wally run his fingers along the seams of the mask, trying to get it to sit flat after her fiddling as his ears turn red. "I, uh—" He stops, his voice cracking slightly. She blinks at him expectantly, trying to keep her face demure as he glances down at the mask in his hands; she tries not to notice his eyes flickering to her chest for a fraction of a moment, her breasts still barely contained in the wrapping of spandex. He clears his throat, starting again. "I need you to turn around."

She does as she's told, turning and bracing her hands on the sink, watching him in the mirror and trying not to clench her fingers into the porcelain. She's tied the neck of the suit so that it covers the worst of her scar but she can't stop him from seeing the rest of her back; it's marred with tiny marks from misfired arrows and various battles but Wally's looking at it like it's some sort of master piece, his eyes moving in a blur in an effort to see them all.

She doesn't like the attention he's giving her, doesn't like that he's standing so close she can feel his breath on her shoulder. She clears her throat, still sounding huskier than she intends. "Anytime, Kid."

He blinks and catches her eye in the mirror, his ears practically glowing. "Right." He swallows.

His reflection doesn't move though; instead he simply stands behind her, breathing, his eyes looking bright and excited over her shoulder. Her cheeks are beginning to redden. The slowly, so slowly it nearly kills her, he reaches up. She instinctively closes her eyes, expecting him to reach around to place the mask over her lids.

Her eyes snap open when she feels the elastic being tugged out of her hair.

She sucks in air between her clenched teeth, watching him drag her hair loose, her blonde tresses falling in waves between them. Wally's freckles are practically blushing themselves, his hand dragging through her hair and gripping the very ends, his knuckles barely brushing the small of her back."Sorry." He says thickly, sounding slightly embarrassed. "It was in the way, that's why you couldn't—"

"It's fine." She interrupts, sounding vaguely breathless. She can't help the slight arc of her back, the desperate need to feel more of his skin on hers, even if it is just knuckles through a thin layer of spandex. She's _pathetic_.

Wally's eyes catch hers in the mirror, slightly wide and excited the way every teenage boy is, curious at her reaction. He replaces his hand at the back of her head, carefully running through her tresses again, watching as she shuts her eyes and gnaws at her lips as he grips her hair, the bumps of his knuckles hitting her back. She can feel the familiar coiling sensation in her stomach, still sensitive after her "almost" in the shower; she has to remind herself what he said to her in his bedroom, has to remind herself that she's _broken_ and _unfixable_ and _wrong for him in every possible way_.

He snags a knot with his fingers, and she actually makes a low noise in the back of her throat, just loud enough for him to hear it. "Sorry." He says quietly, not realizing she liked it. "You should wear your hair down more often." He says in a slightly thick voice. "… You look really pretty."

She catches his eye in the mirror, steady for the first time in a while. His cheeks are ridiculously red now and she forces herself to break eye contact and smirk at the sink. "Weren't you supposed to be putting on my mask?"

Wally blushes again, his hand burying itself in her hair again as he starts to trip over words. "Oh, uh—" His finger catches on the tie of her suit and he stops speaking.

She winces slightly, knowing that he felt the protruding at the bottom of her neck, felt the long line of nobbled flesh that rests there. She doesn't meet his eyes when he glances at her in the mirror, questioningly, asking for permission, but she also doesn't stop him when he parts her hair, flopping it in equal sections over her shoulders and exposing it.

 _Maybe that's progress._

She clenches her hands against the porcelain of the sink, all the muscles in her back on high alert and waiting for his judgement. His hands are tight on her shoulders, keeping her hair off her back as his thumbs press into her skin, the lone wanderer of his right hand tugging the tie of her suit lower, better to expose the scar. She watches his brows tense in the mirror.

She hears him breathe and out almost ten times before he speaks, and when he does his voice is so much different than before, no longer thick with excitement but low and dangerous; she can see an odd mixture of fury and pity on his face. "What happened?" She hesitates, and the longer she waits to answer the angrier he gets; he whips her around by the shoulders, glaring. "What happened, Artemis? I swear to God—"

He's so furious he actually cuts himself off, one hand waving angrily through the air and going to rub angrily through his hair, and she decides to answer. "Wally—"

He interrupts her, already in on the fact that she's about to lie. "The truth Artemis. What's the truth?"

She bites her tongue and for a second they simply glare at each other, her looking mildly annoyed and him looking ready to commit several different types of murder. Then she narrows her eyes and tilts back her chin, looking at a fixed point above his left shoulder. "I told you. My Dad is an asshole."

She avoid his eyes as his expression falls, looking a mixture of disgust and pity. She doesn't want to hear what he has to say, doesn't want him to demand more of her than what she's obligated to give. She doesn't want to hear words of comfort or horror or any other kind of words for that matter, she knows it will only make her feel worse and place even more weight on the point he made in his bedroom: she's _broken_. She's a banged up little girl with scars he can't heal, broken limbs he can't set.

 _She's broken and there's stuff broken between them; she won't be able to fix the damage she's done no matter how hard she tries..._

 _She wouldn't be good for him._

She swallows down the part of her that is still hoping he'll reach out and touch her, still clinging to the naivety that he'll ever want her after seeing proof of the darkness inside of her. She can see the horrified look on his face, his ears no longer red, can see that it's become apparent that he can't save her from herself. Her father was right, she's not meant for this kind of stuff. No one so beat up can play the hero.

She ties the mask on herself, not bothering with the fact that the eye holes are still crooked despite Kid Idiot's revelation. The line of his lips is no longer excited or inviting, just sitting in a straight line above a clenched jaw. "I'm late." She says, brushing past him.

Wally doesn't move, doesn't wish her luck or tell her to be safe. It's one of the last times she'll ever see him, she's almost sure, and with that in mind she glances back over her shoulder with the hope that he'll at least meet her eyes. She's disappointed when she sees him glaring at himself in the mirror, her hair band still clenched tightly in his fist.

She blinks her eyes a bit too quickly. The she turns her back on him and all their "almosts."

* * *

 **AN: I'm not 100% happy with this chapter but the boyfriend and I are jetting off on a vacation for the week and I really wanted to give you guys something to remember me by! We'll be out exploring the mountains and lakes of southern British Columbia and I won't be able to update until Sunday.**

 **Once again, feel free to cast your votes for my next work: Sister piece in Wally's POV or a Sequel that covers the span of the time gap between season 1 and 2? So far it's about 60-40 in favor of a direct sequel but I still would love opinions.**

 **Have a wonderful week and please REVIEW! If I come home to over a dozen reviews I promise to update before I even unpack!**


	12. 11: Long Gone

**AN: So many (and really, so so many) kind reviews for the last chapter, you guys easily topped my request for a dozen and made me smile the few times I checked my e-mail during my vacation. As promised I'm uploading immediately after getting home (seriously, my suitcase is looking me dead in the face with a lot of judgment as I write this.)**

 **This one is a bit shorter but trust me, the chapter after is worth the slight lull.**

* * *

"Bye."

She catches Robin's final words into the communicator before he presses a random button to silence the transmission, his finger trailing down the side of his jaw and settling into a jacket pocket. "Who was that?" She asks, coming to stand beside him. He's glaring at the ancient poster of an old acrobatic team.

He doesn't even glance up at her, looking slightly moody. "Wally. He says hi."

She nearly snorts. "To me? Don't lie, Dick."

Robin shrugs but forces a slightly bitter smile. "You caught me." She's tempted to leave but can tell he has more to say to her, giving him nearly a minute of silence in the December air to pull the thoughts through his teeth. "How are you feeling? ... About your last mission and everything?"

She bites the inside of her cheek. It's the 26th of December and things have been quiet. She'd been hoping to leave the Team in a final blaze of glory, with blood on her hands and maybe with enough gore for the others to form their own conclusions about her abandonment, but it's looking like her mission as a circus freak will be her last. The wind is picking up the ends of her hair and tickling the back of her neck. "I don't know. Fine, I guess."

"Have you told the rest of the Team?"

She shakes her head, taking her turn to glare moodily at the ancient poster. "No. I figured it would be easier just…. You know."

"Yeah. Sometimes that's best." Robin nods and they both stare at the poster for a while. "I'll keep sending you updates on Cheshire, if you want. Maybe we can chance a reunion?"

She closes her eyes. She's never been good at this kind of goodbye, the kind where they both make promises they can't keep. She knows she'll only see him sparingly around the hallways at school now, will maybe find the courage to nod at him when he catches her gaze. She knows that promising anything else is pointless and only setting both of them up for disappointment. "... Thanks, Dick."

His eyes linger on her, and at once she knows that he knows that she's lying, knows that he knows about her past; he maybe even knows of her father and the plan she's brewing with him. For some reason he doesn't challenge her, doesn't waste any breathe trying to convince her otherwise. She wonders if Dick has parents.

 _She wonders what he had to do to protect them too._

"… Keep in touch, okay?"

* * *

She wakes in the night to her cellphone ringing, vibrating against the bottom of her bunk. She can see M'gann across from her, still bearing Caucasian skin, beginning to stir in her sleep at the noise and she quickly leaves their train compartment.

 _Unknown Caller (Unknown)_

She purses her lips, staring at the caller ID for a few extra rings than necessary. Then she flips it open, whispering so quietly she can barely hear herself over the sound of the metal on the tracks. "Not a good time."

"Where are you?" Jade's voice flickers through the receiver.

She glances around. The hallway is deserted, the lamps hardly lit in the evening air. "Couldn't tell you if I wanted to. I'm doing someone a favor."

She can hear Jade click her tongue impatiently. "Dad wants to have a rendezvous together before your big ride-along, little girl. When are you back?"

"Don't know."

Another tongue click. "Meet us in the lobby of the hotel on 7th, 48 hours from now. If you aren't there you aren't coming, got it?"

She can hear someone shifting inside the compartment beside her. "Fine." She clicks her phone shut and just manages to shove it inside the top of her boot when Roy appears, popping his head out of the compartment door beside her.

He watches her wobble awkwardly, looking skeptical. "What are you doing up this late?" He asks her, glaring at her out of the holes in his mask. Like Robin he never exposes his whole face.

 _She no longer feels excited like she once did at his presence, no longer finds him attractive or challenging. She's tired of his suspicions and his accusations and anything else she once found charming; all she sees now is another obstacle in her way._

She snorts. "Relax, Arrow. I'm going back to bed."

He glares at her until she's back inside her compartment and back in her place.

* * *

She smells salt in the air, and doesn't have to look around to tell who's hovering in her doorway. "Need anything, Kaldur?" She asks, glancing at him over her shoulder.

He looks a little surprised that she knew he was there, his hand still raised in a fist as if to knock. The corners of his mouth twitch upwards when she stands, turning to face him. "Hm. I thought we Atleanteans had a lighter tread than most humans."

She taps her nose smartly. "Unfortunately for you, I have a better nose than most humans."

He nods, eyes pale and milky and surveying her over a fond smile that crinkles his cheeks. She catches herself breathing him in; the bitter scent of salt, of water weeds and oak. She has the impression he's doing the same with her, memorizing the small things about her: the point to her finger nails and the rigidness of her stance, the way her lower lip is chapped along the lines her teeth have pressed into it. Then at once he blinks and pointedly glances around, frowning at all the open drawers and the empty bookshelf. "I've just been informed of your plans."

He looks so disappointed in her that she glances down, suddenly feeling embarrassed to be leaving at all. She turns back to her backpack, shoving the hoodie she's been folding unceremoniously into its depths. "I'm sorry, Kal." She sighs. "I just—"

"You do not have to explain your reasoning to me." He says firmly, striding confidently into her bedroom and standing beside her. "We have all had our misgivings about this life. You are not to blame."

She nods, blinking rapidly at her hands as they clench against the shoulder straps. "Thank you." She says stiffly. Kaldur's hand reaches out to press against hers, his skin cool to the touch.

"You are welcome." He says solemnly, squeezing her hand. She feels the webbing between his fingers as he weaves his hand against hers, glancing briefly at her back pack. "Tomorrow is Induction Day. We would all be honored if you would watch Roy takes his place in the League with us. It would also be an opportunity for you to meet the newest member of our Team, Rocket."

She feels a strange surge of sadness sound in her stomach, and she nearly jerks her hand out of his. "You mean my replacement?"

 _She's being kicked out the door without a second glance... A replacement..._

Kaldur's brows shoot up, a new habit he's acquired in the past few months. "Rocket is not an archer, nor is she your replacement. She is simply a new friend." When she continues to look slightly sour he reaches out to her, pulling her into a slightly awkward yet brotherly hug. "Besides, it is my hope that you may, one day…"

He trails off and hugs her tighter, pulling back enough to press his lips against the crown of her head. It occurs to her that she loves Kaldur, truly loves him in the best way a friend can love another, and before she can stop herself she pulls back, gripping him hard about the shoulders. "… Of course, Kaldur. I'll be there."

 _It's a lie, because after she leaves they won't want her back._

The smell of salt lingers in her clothing long after he's left, and she thinks she'll miss it when it finally fades out.

* * *

She goes to the hotel on 7th later that afternoon.

She is escorted by her sister into the eleventh room on the second floor, and it is here that her father greets her with open arms, in the most literal sense; it feels alien to be embraced the way she is, his bones jutting into her sides and making the muscles in her back jump, her haunches rising as if to strike.

 _Old habits die hard._

Jade remains oddly quiet as Lawrence raids the mini bar, opening up the bottle of cheap champagne and tossing the room service menu at her. They all clink together their cheap plastic cups and act as if this is the way things are meant to be. He tells her to order anything she wants, and for the first time in her life she feels like a spoiled little girl.

"You've made a wise choice, Artemis." Her father is saying now, his fingers busying themselves with rolling a cigarette. "This is how it was meant to be. We're going to be a family again."

She sips the champagne even though it burns on her tongue, glancing at Jade who doesn't meet her eyes. "Thanks, Dad."

Lawrence licks the seal on the tobacco, runs it once under his nose as he inhales, and then lights it. "Now, onto business. We have a meeting tomorrow night with Luthor in Santa Prisca—"

"Luthor?" She interrupts, squinting at him through the haze of smoke. "Lex Luthor?"

"Yes. Don't interrupt, Artemis." Her father barks at her, his finger tracing a map of an unfamiliar island somewhat distractingly despite the fact that his tone is suddenly sharp. "Now, from what I understand he's done a deal with Bane, the owner of a manufacturing plant on Santa Prisca. There will be a few other big players involved too and we'll mostly be hired muscle, but we will be responsible for taking the part of the shipment the Light has already secured there—" She feels the bed shift slightly as Jade moves closer beside her under the pretext of checking the map. "We're expecting a few members of the Justice League to show up, maybe even a few members of that kiddy bopper squad of yours, Artemis—"

"What?" She can't stop the croak that escapes her lips. Jade lets out a low hiss beside her, sounding like a rattlesnake in the desert that's warning her of the consequences of a false step.

Lawrence glances up at her, glaring. "What? Is that a problem?"

He's looking at her with such animosity that she's finding it hard to speak. "W-well, no… I just thought… I thought I wouldn't be into the game anymore? Like more of a behind the scenes kinda—"

Lawrence stands up suddenly, the drafts he's laid of carefully falling off his lap and sliding to the floor. "Thought you wouldn't be in the game anymore?" He repeats, scoffing. "Don't be an idiot, Baby Girl. I didn't scope you for your smarts."

She swallows thickly, her throat feeling as if it's suddenly as dry as the Bialyan desert. She risks another glance at Jade, who's picking at a thread on the bed spread in an almost violent manner. "I just thought... I thought we would all t-take a break, you know… So we could be a family?"

It's faster than she can even see; suddenly her pony tail is being ripped backward, her neck snapping back with it. Jade is frozen beside her, fingers still and looking stunned as Lawrence looms over both of them looking furious as he grips her hair, pulling on it so hard a few hairs snap free of her scalp. "Fuck what you thought!" Lawrence hisses, the cigarette in his mouth hanging dangerously over his lips, about to fall into her eye socket at any moment. "This is what I'm telling you, Artemis. This is what it takes to be a part of this family. Now either get on board," The free hand removes the cigarette, his voice dropping dangerously low. "Or get out of here. I'm sure your little rag-tag team will love to have you back in the play house. Or go home. I'm sure your mother would like to know where you've been."

The last few words send her stomach churning, the realization of how true they are hitting her. She can't return to the Team, not when the rendezvous is so close to happening—her father will reveal who she is, surely, ensuring the loss of her spot on the Team altogether. And she can't simply turn her back and go home to Paula—after all, Lawrence already proved how easy they are to find, with or without League protection.

 _She took the job because she thought it would mean being safe. Being together._

 _And now she's at his mercy again._

She swallows, the awkward angle her head is being held at forcing her jugular to bob up against her throat. Lawrence grins at her silence. "Figured it out, haven't you?" He chuckles, whipping her head forward so hard it cranks her neck. "You're stuck with us, Baby Girl."

She doesn't even get a moment to flinch at the pain before he grabs her chin between his fingers, his knuckles pressing painfully into her skin as he forces her to look into the eyes she inherited. "That's right, Baby. You belong to me again, don't you?" The way he's speaking to her humiliating, his voice adopting a child-like coo that is more terrifying than cute. The voice is what floods her with fear, her limbs numb in the face of his torture. "First you and then your Mom… We'll be a proper family again, yes we will…" He shakes her chin slightly before releasing her. " _Daddy's Baby Girl_." He chuckles darkly, slapping her a little too hard on the cheek to be affectionate.

"Hey!" Jade seems to become unfrozen, a wrinkle appearing above her nose as she gets to her feet. "We get the point, Old Man. Lay off."

 _... Jade?_

Lawrence breaks into a slightly maniac grin, glancing between his two daughters. "Oh what, you don't like that?" Without warning he slaps her again, this time so hard that stars burst in front of her eyes, the force of it knocking her against the mattress.

Suddenly her limbs are working again, as if a good shock to the head was all she needed. She blinks back tears that are blossoming in her eyes, hearing the sound of a blade being drawn. "I said, _lay off_." Jade repeats, snarling low in the back of her throat.

She can hear Lawrence chuckle again. "Relax." He says warningly, the tip of his boot reaching out to nudge Artemis painfully in the leg. "Explain the finer points to her when she comes round. See you in 72 hours."

She shakes her head slightly as the door shuts, still blinking back the stars that are clouding the edge of her vision. "Did he leave?" She asks in a slightly blearily voice, struggling to pick her head off the mattress.

"You're such an idiot." Jade snarls, wrenching her upwards so quickly that she nearly cranks her neck again, head rush flooding through her. Between the black spots she can see Jade crouch in front of her, scowling as she replaces the sai in her belt. "Why do you always get like that around him? You're not a little kid anymore, Artemis. You can fight back."

"But—"

Jade seizes her chin, her fingers much softer than her father's. "Jesus, look at this..." She feels as if she's ten again as Jade tilts her head this way and that, letting the light catch the injury. The wrinkle above her nose still hasn't disappeared, almost popping against her skin as the older woman suddenly stands up, her hands on her hips. "What the _hell_ are you doing, Artemis?"

The tone Jade uses sounds almost frustrated, like a mother addressing a misbehaving daughter. It takes Artemis a moment to realize that she's speaking to her. "… What?"

Her sister doesn't take kindly to repeating herself, scowling down at her. "I said, _what the hell do you think you're doing_? Coming back to him?" There's a pause in which the wrinkle almost runs smooth against her skin. "… You shouldn't be getting involved in this again. Is this what you want your life to be like?"

She's about five different kinds of confused, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "But last time," She begins, wishing Jade would look at her instead of the dingy walls. "Last time you said to me that if I didn't have anything to lose—"

Jade cuts her off, finally meeting her gaze with a look that is so piercing that she feels x-rayed. "Then I was wrong okay? You can't go back to Dad—"

"… You're back with Dad—"

"That's not my choice, Artemis!" It's a sudden outburst so unlike her sister, and for a moment Jade glares at her, too angry to speak. "You know that's not my choice. I work with him because I have to, not because… Listen to me. You're not like me, okay? _Fuck_ what Dad says—Fuck it, I mean it! Look, I'm not going to sugar coat it. You come back with us and you're going to die."

For a few seconds they just stare at each other, both breathing a little heavily. "… Since when do you care if I die?" She breathes.

 _Because if she's going to be honest she doesn't care if she herself dies, doesn't care if she bleeds out on pavement the way her mother almost did, not when she has so little to lose; and maybe that's why it's so out of character to hear the words coming out of Jade's mouth... Her older sister, protecting her, loving her..._

Jade has always been a little mentally unstable; if she remembers correctly, it's this mild lunacy that initially prompted her to adopt the persona of the wicked Cheshire Cat. She can see the familiar flicking in her eyes, the one that always proceeds sudden outbursts of affection or violence. Distantly she remembers a doctor's office and a diagnosis of mental instability, the sound of her father's laughter lurking in the corners of her mind like … The battle is still raging inside Jade's head, the two sides of her duking it out to speak. Something shifts and suddenly she's sneering down at her, her teeth bared and showing smudges of her lipstick. "You're right. I don't care. Do what you want, _Baby Girl_."

She extends a hand that looks soft and inviting, and against her better judgement Artemis leans in slightly, as if expecting her sister to caress her face once more. Instead she is greeted by another slap, the skin on her cheek positively screaming and the force of the movement turning her head as Jade cackles.

"I'll see you when I see you, Little Sister." Jade sneers, gripping her chin and forcing her to meet her gaze. She flinches as Jade leans in, scarlet lips pressing against her forehead. "But remember what Daddy said…" Jade whispers against her hair. "You do this… You're his again…"

* * *

 _You're his again_.

She can't stop the words from repeating inside her head, mercilessly pounding against her skull and mocking in her Jade's sneering voice. She doesn't sleep, barely has time to think of anything else. Because her sister's right, and so is her father… She's back in it again, whether she wants to be or not.

It had been childish to assume that going back to her father would simply mean his presence in her apartment again; what had she expected, that he'd just go back to taking care of her and mom, no debt to pay? Things were never that simple with Lawrence. No, the price of them "being a family again" would mean the ultimate betrayal of her friends, not just quietly but in battle. There would be bloodshed. There may even be lives lost. And there would be no one left to blame but her.

 _She ruins everything..._

"Hey, are you… Are you alright?"

She pulls her eyes back into focus, plastering a fake grin on her face when she turns to the Martian. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

They're speaking in low tones, the rest of the Team around them so thoroughly engrossed in the commencement ceremony that nobody notices the two of them conversing in whispers. M'gann's brows are slightly pursed, giving the smile she's wearing a slightly skeptical look. "Are you sure? Your energy has been… Off, lately. You would tell me if something was wrong, right?"

There's no lying to M'gann, not when she's so easily in tune with everyone's emotions. Regardless she shrugs her shoulders, the muscles in her arms slightly tight when she crosses them across her chest. "Don't worry. I've just been tired."

She glances away from M'gann for a moment, and when she returns her gaze the other girl is frowning. "… You should get more sleep." She says kindly, trying to smile.

"Yeah, I guess." She gives the conversation up for a bad job, pretending to become engrossed in the ceremony unfurling on stage. To her surprise she catches Wally's gaze. They look at each other for a long moment, both of their eyes narrowed in the dislike they've been pretending to adopt again; they haven't spoken since before the circus mission. She frowns slightly as he raises his mug of hot chocolate to his lips.

She sees the Flash symbol, sees the jarring red color that's just as bold now as it was the day she spotted it on the gas station shelf, before he turns his back on her. She doesn't even try to hide the rush of heat to her cheeks, nor the smile that graces her lips, hoping any affection she feels will be disguised from M'gann under the cover of the induction ceremony.

Robin tugs on her arm, jarring her away from any pleasure she feels. He has his head ducked down, staring at something she can't see on his cellphone. "... Cheshire." He breathes.

* * *

 **AN: Short and sweet for this one folks. We're truly in the home stretch now. Please read and review for me!**


	13. Into the End

**AN: The final chapter... I have a lot to say to all of you but I think I'll save it until the end.**

* * *

The suitcase is tossed aside with almost a reckless amount of abandon, the sound of falling snow thundering in her ears. Everything around them is blocked out from her senses, and despite the cold and the shaking of the ground and the fact that a cliff is falling right over her all she can see is Jade.

 _She knows her death is coming, knows that she'll suffocate beneath the snow... She doesn't look for Wally, for Robin, not even M'gann. She looks at her sister, really looks at her (the curl in her hair, the freckles on her skin) and knows that even if her own blood is spilled she'll live on, at least a while longer, in her..._

She sees the familiar eyes beneath the mask widen, can see them shift to calculate the impending danger that she isn't going to save herself from _(because she doesn't care if she dies, not anymore.)_ She doesn't see a moment of hesitation before the suitcase, the suitcase that she knows contains information that should be guarded from the Justice League, is _thrown away_. She sees the cat-like pounce and feels the pressure of arms around her waist, not there to deliver a deadly blow with a sai but to protect…

She feels the ground against her back and the warmth of her sister on top of her, feels the edge of the mask against her cheek. She counts three heart beats against her ribs where Jade simply holds her and can't help the surprised look on her face.

 _They haven't been this close in years._

"What?" Jade asks, pulling back. The Cheshire mask is looking at her mischievously. "… Alright, I take it back. You are my sister… I don't want you to die. Happy?"

"What…" Together they glance back at the suitcase, and she tenses her muscles, waiting for her sister to spring off her and start the race towards it. Instead Jade clambers off her, getting to her feet and turning her back on the priceless intel.

"Go, Artemis." She nods at the ground, only glancing back when she hears no disturbance in the snow. "What, are you stupid? I'm giving you a shot here, kid!"

She knows there's only so much time before the rest of the Team will notice the interaction; the avalanche has thrown her off slightly, making getting to her feet a little more difficult than it should be. "Jade—" She begins, but Jade cuts her off with a snarl.

"Don't thank me, alright? Just… Go, okay?" They both glare at each other, two sisters alone in the snow.

 _She wants to ask her so many things... Why now? Why not before? She wants to promise her she'll ensure her redemption too, not just her own, wants to tell her that the bed across from her is still waiting, that their mother still loves her..._

There's another explosion somewhere in the middle of the storm, the sound of a companion crying out forcing her to move. Jade waits until the handle of the case is enclosed in her fist before she draws her sai and makes to disappear.

She can't help but feel like Alice all over again, placing her trust in the Cheshire Cat.

* * *

When she starts her speech with an eye roll and a hesitant "… Listen…" she gears herself up for the worst.

 _But this is her last chance. Her only chance to tell the truth._

She watches their faces carefully as she pulls up pictures on the big screen, trying to keep her voice as tough as she can as their eyes widen and their mouths set. By the time she finishes she can feel the corners of her eyes prickling and phlegm beginning to pool at the back of her throat, and she privately thinks that if somebody doesn't say something soon she'll vomit. There's a half beat of silence when nobody speaks, the pictures of her family flashing blankly behind her. She swallows about fifty times, trying to keep her nerves at bay as she stares at the floor.

"… You're not your family. You're one of us."

She wasn't aware of holding her breath, yet with the words she inhales sharply, the sudden influx of oxygen sharpening her vision and blowing the whole scene into a tight focus. They're all nodding at her and smiling encouragingly, as if this isn't hard for them to hear, and she's on the verge of thinking they're all lying when suddenly she feels a hand on her bare shoulder.

She knows who it is without looking; she can feel the heat of his hand through his gloves, can smell walnuts in the breeze coming off his hair. He's got an apologetic smile on his face and his ears are a bright red, barely glancing at her as he shifts his arm, balancing his elbow on her skin. "Well, anybody else have any big revelations?"

It's better, so much better than anything the rest of the Team has to say; his skin is warm on hers and for one wild moment she almost reaches round to grab him by the neck, her lips itching for his.

It takes a few seconds of well practiced self-conservation before she convinces herself that they have much more to talk about, much more to do with their mouths than simply kiss. She keeps the wild part of herself at bay as he shifts closer, his hip touching hers and holding promise of something better to come.

* * *

Kaldur looks up from the floor, his face looking serious over his tightly crossed arms. "Then we are agreed. M'gann, Superboy, and Artemis are to continue with their plans as if nothing has changed. We will be waiting close by in case anything goes… Awry."

The way he says the last word catches them all off guard. There is a noticeable shift in the air as muscles tense, any lingering affection from the confessions in the moments before dwindling quickly. It's occurring to them all that they're about to enter a mission that pits them against multiple big players, the stakes higher and more dangerous than they have been before. Beside her Wally shifts, his elbow leaving her shoulder as he straightens.

"We get it." He says, his shoulders squaring underneath the yellow kevlar. "How much time do we have before the ball starts rolling?"

M'gann is the one who answers, drawing her hood over her ginger hair and setting her face in a grim line. "None. I'm supposed to be on my way to meet Queen Bee right now."

"Then go." Kaldur nods at her urgently, his eyes following her back as she sets out. "The rest of us should do the same."

There's the usual squabbling and scrambling that proceeds each mission, with each member of the Team rushing to check their arsenal of weaponry and tie up any last minute loose ends. In the sudden flux of movement that follows she's oddly still: she's had a bag packed and ready the past few days for all the wrong reasons, prepared for this mission to have an entirely different outcome. For something to do she reaches over her shoulder and mentally takes inventory of her arrows, feeling for the difference in their feathers. She's missing a few from the last mission and what she has is rattling a little loosely in her quiver: 9 standard. 11 explosive. 3 poly-standard foam. She is just at the point of considering a stop at one of Oliver's hidden weaponry arsenals – she knows he has a stock of more poly-standard arrows just a few blocks from her house—when she feels eyes on her.

Wally still hasn't left her side, the apparent effort he's put into staying still and simply letting her notice him taking its toll; he's rocking backwards and forwards on the balls of his feet, looking sheepish. She can't help her brows from raising beneath her mask, her one arm still extended behind her and fingering the top of her quiver. "... What?" She asks almost suspiciously, not sure if they're still pretending to hate each other.

The tips of his ears go slightly red, the tell-all hand rubbing ferociously at his neck. "… Can we go somewhere and talk?"

She wants to give a different answer, wants nothing better than to disappear into the depths of the Cave and not return for a few hours, but she knows better by now. She has to forcibly tear her eyes away from the sheepish half smile he's sending her, reminding herself all the while that she has a mission to complete and too many feelings distracting her. "I can't Wally. You heard Kal, I have to get going."

"Just wait a second, okay?" She hasn't even moved and yet he grabs her wrist from her quiver, anchoring her to his side and removing the distraction of her arrows. The rest of the Team is bustling around them, and after a stern look from Robin he seems to find the words he needs to say. "I've been a real asshole, haven't I?"

She doesn't deny it, but simply looks at him as if impatient for him to continue. She can't stop her pulse from running though, and she feels him squeeze his fingers against her veins. In the few seconds of silence that follows she watches his lips move slightly, counting the beats that are keeping her alive.

"… I'm sorry, Artemis."

She shakes her head, glancing her feet. Her toes are only a few inches from his. "Don't apologize, Wally. You didn't know the truth."

"Yeah… But I knew you." He squeezes her wrist once more as he says it, and before she can shift her hand and hold some small part of him he's let go, taking a few steps back.

It feels like they're starting over, like they're looking at each other with fresh eyes and the Bialyan sand whipping through the air. Despite this fact she has a bad feeling in her stomach, like something is about to go wrong and she should say a proper goodbye.

 _The next time she sees him she hopes she'll be braver, hopes that whatever words are lurking in the back of her throat will push themselves past her teeth._

She reaches out, punching him in the shoulder like she always does. "Be safe out there, Kid."

She lets her fist linger a second too long, and hopes that says what she can't. He smiles at her, the freckles spreading crookedly across his cheeks. "You too. Don't be an idiot."

* * *

She stands straight beside Jade, looking out into the darkness. The winter air is cold in Gotham, the lights of downtown streaming through the smog so brightly she can almost believe they're stars. She fiddles with the broken zipper on her jacket for a moment before folding the seams over top of each other, crossing her arms and hoping to cut out the cold.

Jade spares her a glance, her eyes barely visible under the brim of her ball cap, the tips of her fingers clutching a cigarette. They look conspicuous, she knows it; two young girls standing alone on the roof top of a building they have no business being in. She shifts her feet, the snow numbing her toes through her boots, and Jade clicks her tongue impatiently.

"Will you stay still?"

She immediately stops moving; Jade has always had this power over her, like being around her saps her confidence away. "… Sorry." She straightens her back and tries to ignore how cold she is.

Jade shifts the bag that contains both their costumes and their weapons on her shoulder, the strap catching a piece of her hair and tugging it. "What's your problem, anyway? Didn't you give your little friends that present?"

She glances at her sister, who is staring blankly at the skyline. "… You know I did. Isn't that what you wanted?"

Jade lets out a low laugh that sounds more cruel than comedic. "Please, Baby Girl. I don't have a stake in your kiddie games." There's a half second where she seems to consider the reality of her own lie, and without seeming to think her sister puffs twice from the cigarette before extending it out towards her. _A peace offering._ "I'm just wondering if this whole thing is a waste of time or not. They're waiting for us, I expect?"

It bothers her slightly, the way she doesn't hesitate before grabbing the tight roll of paper, the smoke filling her lungs and leaving a bad taste in her mouth. She used to smoke with her sister all the time; stolen moments with stolen cigarettes, clumsy fingers getting burnt on their father's lighter. She passes it back, regretting the moment of weakness that she knows will leave her nauseous in a few minutes. "… Yeah. What are you going to do then? Just disappear as usual?"

"Save it." Jade scoffs and snatches the cigarette back, her eyes narrowing slightly when she hears the sourness in her tone. "No, I'll probably stick around. Always entertaining to play around with you brats." Jade smirks at her just as the sound of a helicopter breaks through the horizon. "Just be careful, okay?" She adds quietly.

* * *

She glances up from her boots, the floor of helicopter thrumming under her feet. Her father is staring at her.

It's instinct to drop her eyes back to the floor, her heart pounding like it used to do when she was younger. She doesn't trust the look in his eye any more now than she did then.

"Artemis." He says her name softly, so as not to distract Jade as she flies them over the ocean. The space in the tiny cabin is limited at best, and there's nowhere for her to run to as he reaches out, his finger pressing gently under her chin and tilting her head upwards.

"W-what?" She asks him, ignoring her own stutter and trying her best to adopt a steely expression. Lawrence grins.

"Christ." He leans back, folding his hands behind his neck and surveying her, still smiling in his usual twisted manner. "You have no idea how many times your mother has given me that exact look. Christ." There's something a little off about him, almost like he's had a few drinks before they met up; his eyes are red rimmed and his breath smells sour.

She doesn't say anything and simply stares at him, trying to force herself into looking insignificant; her back is pressed against her seat and she's hunching her shoulders, hoping the floor will simply open up and drop her into the depths of the ocean. In the silence she sees the Cheshire mask peek over Jade's shoulder, watching.

Lawrence doesn't notice the movement and lets out a low whistle. "I'll tell you something Baby Girl, you sure got your mother's looks. How old are you now? Eighteen?"

"I'll be sixteen in July." She corrects him. Something off-putting is beginning to twist in his face.

"Ah, a few more years then." The smile on his face is beginning to change into a sneer. "I'll tell you, with a face like that… Jade, do you remember my old pal Arthur?"

She glances at Jade, who noticeably bristles in the pilot's seat. "… How could I forget?" She says in a low and dangerous tone.

Lawrence laughs, loud and brash, and the helicopter sways slightly. "Oh Jade, don't be so sour. Arthur's the one who really refined Jade into what she is today." He adds the last bit as clarification for Artemis. "Although some credit does go to her old man, doesn't it sweetheart?"

Jade's fingers tighten around the controls but she doesn't say anything, and in her silence Lawrence sneers wider, teeth bared and mouth stretching too far to fit his face. "A few more years, Baby Girl. I would do it now but poor Arthur still has some morals... He'll really be able to make something out of you. He'll teach you all kinds of things... You'll be ultimate predator to any man who crosses your path."

 _The ultimate predator..._

There's something perverse in the way he's looking at her, and a sudden curdle of disgust rushes through her stomach as her father laughs again. The whole room sways as Jade begins to bring them in lower. "Jade never did have a sense of humor about it. But I certainly did; it was always funny to watch her get their cocks hard and slit their throats at the same time." Lawrence chuckles, reaching out to pet her chin again when she looks frightened. "Doesn't matter baby, we still have a few more years for you to get used to the idea."

She can feel the dirt under his finger nails as he scratches her affectionately about the chin, almost as if she were some sort of animal. She has the courage to jerk away, and realizes how much of a mistake it is to move almost immediately.

"Excuse me?" Any laughter is gone from Lawrence's voice as she escapes his grasp, his hand groping the open air. "What's the matter, don't like your Old Man touching you?"

Jade sends her a warning look over her shoulder, and the message is clear: _Don't screw this up_. She blinks twice and turns her head back, letting him grip her roughly about the chin. "No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it." She says mechanically, his thumb digging so hard into her skin that she's sure it will leave a mark. "I'm sorry." She repeats, closing her eyes and pressing back against his hand.

It's hardly believable but Lawrence seems satisfied, whatever liquor is in his system making him easier to fool. He releases her chin and makes to smooth her hair back over her cowl, his nails digging into her scalp so as to make the warning in his words clear. "That's right, Baby Girl. You belong to me now. You'll obey me no matter what…"

She lets him continue his ministrations on her hair, keeping her eyes focused on her feet.

* * *

Wally finds her where she's been waiting for him: in front of their window.

She hates to think of it as their window, but in the back of her mind she knows that's what it is: theirs. It was theirs from the moment she broke all her rules for an idiot like him and made him a cup of tea. It was theirs even more when he hated it and drank it anyway.

She's been sitting with her back to the glass for almost a half hour, waiting. She's still wearing her uniform, still unbathed and bleeding from the night's events. There's a smearing of blood on her boot from where it collided with her father's face that her eyes can't stop focusing on, and somewhere in the back of her mind she registers that that same blood runs through her veins. She glances up when he enters the room, his hair wet from his shower.

He stops in his tracks when he sees her, and she can hear the breath he sucks in as he stares in her direction. No, not at her. Maybe past her? She supposes the view outside must be pretty great by his standards: when she first sat down thick blocks of snow were beginning to fall from the sky and by now the whole beach must be coated in an unearthly white. She straightens her back against the glass and her muscles scream out in protest against the cold, her hands curling into fists on the ground beside her. "Hi." She says, just loudly enough for him to hear.

Oddly enough Wally gives his head a slight shake, as if to clear it. "Hi." He says back, sounding slightly out of breath, as if he's run a couple miles on his way here. "Hi. Wow."

She feels her eyes narrow slightly; he still hasn't moved from the door way. "... What?" She asks, almost suspicious.

In the dim light she can see his ears redden, one hand leaving the pocket of his jeans and running through his hair. "Uh, sorry. You just… You look really…"

Her eyes nearly roll out of her head as he fumbles through the compliment, her cheeks reddening. "Save it, Wally."

"No, I mean it!" He nods his head enthusiastically, and she has to resist the urge to get up and leave as he takes a few steps closer. "You do look really—you know." He stops when he's at her feet, the tips of his socks almost touching the bottoms of her shoes. He's grinning down at her still, his hand still running ferociously through his hair. She stares at him with narrowed eyes and it occurs to her that he's nervous.

"God, will you relax, Wally?" She scoffs, pulling her knees in so they're not as close anymore, her arms crossing automatically in front of her chest. "I'm not going to attack you or anything."

The hand falls from his neck as he looks down at her, still looking sheepish. "Well, you know… It is you we're talking about."

 _She remembers the look on his face when he saw her attack her father; she had been feral and wild and considering killing him, letting him drown in dirt... She had locked eyes with him and for a moment she saw fear. Real, heart stopping fear, only ceasing when she set her foot back at her side, her ankles suddenly ashamed of the darkness inside her._

 _He had pretended to be proud of her for stopping, pretended that the hand he placed on her shoulder wasn't out of restraint. And for a moment she had hated Wally all over again._

She hunches forwards slightly, not bothering to keep the sour expression from her face. "Gee, thanks." There's a few moments of silence in which Wally keeps hovering awkwardly at her feet while she glares at the floor, and it takes most of her patience to tear her gaze away from the crack in the tile to glare at him. "What?"

He shoves his hands in his pockets, rocking forward onto the balls of his feet. "I was wondering if now was a, uh, better time to talk?"

She flexes her fists against her arms—she swears, this kid changes pace almost as fast as he runs—and forces herself to abandon any annoyance she's had with him in the past minute; shrugging her shoulders in such a nonchalant way that she can almost convince herself that she wasn't waiting here for him, she jerks her head to the empty space beside her.

Wally doesn't follow the order; instead he sits down right where he's standing, his legs stretching out on either side of her and encasing her against the window. The movement makes her feel like a cornered animal, like she has no where to run; she's going to have to confront these feelings and confront them soon, because there's no where else to escape to...

 _Calm down. It's just Wally._ She repeats the words inside her head, her lips opening to suck in a breath.

He's watching her with a curious expression on her face, taking in her stiffness and the way her fingers are tightening around herself. Suddenly he's pulling his legs back towards him, smiling a little apologetically as he locks his palms together to contain his knees, keeping his distance. "Sorry. Too much?"

She doesn't say anything but does look at him a little expectantly which makes his ears go off again, now so red that the tips are disappearing into the ends of his hair. "Uh, right. Talking." He lets out a nervous chuckle and suddenly the air between them smells so strongly of walnuts and soap and she has to double her grip on her arms to keep from reaching for him. "… Are you mad at me?" He says suddenly.

She lifts her chin from the gap between her knees, genuinely a little surprised by the question. "No." She pauses, her eyes flickering between both of his. "Are you mad at me?"

Wally shakes his head and she takes that as a sign that she can settle again, her chin going back to its resting place. She watches one of his thumbs scratch at the edge of his sleeve. "… I am sorry though, Artemis. Really sorry."

"Wally—"

"Just listen, okay?" He interrupts, giving her a stern look. "You should have told us from the start—"

She lets out a snort. "Yeah, because that would have gone over great—"

"God, Artemis. Will you just shut up?" Her interruptions seem to bait his temper as usual, and it seems to take him a second to clear his head again. "I know why you didn't before. But… It's just that so much has happened these past couple months. We're your friends now, Artemis. After everything the Team has been through—" Something in his voice shifts, and suddenly he's talking in a lower and more inviting tone. "After all _we've_ been through… I mean, after we kissed…"

He trails off and suddenly her mouth is dry, her eyes following the movement as he shifts his weight, one of his legs extending again and a sock clad foot pressing against the glass behind her. "I thought we agreed not to talk about that." She tries to sound cold and ends up sounding pathetic.

Wally frowns slightly but doesn't push it, shrugging. "All I'm saying is… Look, I already thought you were pretty cool before. Now…" The corners of his mouth tug up slightly as he leans back, better to look at her. "Awesome, Babe."

He's sending her the same look he sent her in the Bioship, the one that made her stomach weak and her knees quiver. She ducks her head slightly, hiding herself in the folds of her arms until she's sure that all he can see is her eyes through her mask. "Don't be a sap." She says.

The look on his face vanishes as he smiles, his sock clad toe poking her side. "Nah, you like it."

She jerks away from his tickling, glaring at him and unwinding her limbs for the sake of firmly shoving his foot away from her side. "No. I don't."

Neither of them believe her lie, and as she says it something in Wally's face softens again, his cheeks no longer crimson. Before she can stop him he's scooted forward slightly, his right arm reaching for her. She blinks, flinching slightly as his fingers graze her cheek, his hand reaching down to press at the base of her neck.

His touch to her scar, even covered, seems to ignite something deep inside of her; she can feel a small part of her buzzing excitedly under him as his index finger traces the unfamiliar bumps, working his way up her neck until his thumb is pressing at the sensitive spot behind her ear. She can feel the unfamiliar emotion stirring inside her again, can feel the rush of affection for the boy in front of her and every stupid thing he does beginning to spread through her veins; without thinking she lets out a breath, stirring the hair on his forehead.

There's a small crease between his brows now, clearly misreading her reaction. At once his hand is gone, settling sheepishly on his lap. "Seriously though. I'm so sorry, Artemis. Especially about that, I—"

She's tired of hearing what he has to say, tired of listening to anything he regrets; the only logical thing she can think to do is grab his hand, the feeling of his flesh against hers halting whatever sentiment he had been about to express. "Can we just forget it? Please?"

She can tell that forgetting it is the last thing he has in mind; she knows there's about a thousand questions running through his head, and even more explanations she'll have to provide. She can see his mind whirring behind his eyes, can see the way the green irises shift with his thoughts; without thinking she squeezes his hand. "But you will tell me everything, right?" He whispers, his fingers flexing between hers. "One day? Soon?"

"... Maybe." She says back, and it's as close to a promise as she'll allow herself to get.

* * *

When she wakes the next morning she is sore all over.

It's a different kind of sore than what she feels post-mission; this is an all over ache, from the tips of her fingers to the bottoms of her feet. It is the kind of ache that resides less in muscles and more in bones, the kind of ache that makes her wonder if she'll ever unwind again. She jerks her head upwards too quickly, a muscle jumping along her jaw as she blinks blearily into the half-darkness. It takes her a bit too long to register the person beside her.

"Hi." Wally croaks out at her. She leans back slightly, her cheeks reddening when she measures his posture as he leans against the window —oh god, she did not fall asleep on his shoulder—and glances down at their hands, her fingers encasing his in a death grip that explains the aching in her joints. She jerks back, separating them by at least a foot as her mind races. She's freezing, the skin of her arms popping up into goose flesh, the frost on the window pane slightly thawed from where she was sitting.

 _It's too much, too fast._

 _She doesn't know how to do... This._

She feels mildly panicked and can't quite explain why, and it seems to take a few moments of her looking like a deer in a head lights and Wally looking mildly confused before either of them say anything. "Hey." He says, reaching out for her but not quite touching her. "Sorry. You, uh, you fell asleep and, uh…"

"Oh." They both glance down at his hand, her eyes following it as he stops reaching and replaces it at his side.

His brows purse slightly and he gets a troubled sort of look on his face, staring at the worn in knees of his jeans. "… This kind of stuff is really hard for you, isn't it?"

She doesn't know quite what he means and wishes he would finish his sentences like a normal human being instead of leaving his implications and his explanations hanging awkwardly between them, unknown. "… What do you mean, this kind of stuff?"

In answer he gestures wildly between them, as if this is an explanation in and of itself. Then all at once he's sighing, running his hands through his hair and looking frustrated. "I just wish there was something I could do to make things easier."

She can't stand the look on his face, nor the sudden spasm of shame flooding through her—didn't he say all this once before, didn't he tell her that she was broken just a few weeks ago? For that matter, has anything really changed between them since then? She can feel herself bristling, can feel the walls she let down for him beginning to rebuild, beginning to block off her nerves and her veins with tidal waves of coldness. He's right, they can never be together—how can they be, when she's a mess of a person and he's this perfect, whole thing, too clean to be touched by someone as dirty as she is…

 _She ruins everything, but she won't ruin him._

"… I'm sorry." She says, not sounding it, her voice beginning to get the defensive edge she adopts when she's afraid. "I don't really know how to make things easier either. It's like you said before, I'm broken. I can't… I can't be fixed. Right?"

Wally looks up from his lap, his fingers leaving his hair and making the ends stick up at odd angles. "Artemis, no." He reaches for her again, and this time she rocks backwards on her heels and away from his grip, the way she used to whenever he tried to touch her. "That's not true. That's just some dumb thing—we were fighting, Artemis, I didn't mean it."

"But it's true, Wally." She can't stop the end of her lips twisting upwards into a warbled smile, the back of her throat beginning to sting with whatever emotions she's forcing down. "I'm never going to be like the rest of you. It's just… It's not in my DNA. This kind of stuff," She repeats the gesture he made before, as if suddenly its meaning makes sense to her. "It's never going to be easy for me, okay? It goes against almost every instinct I have. Letting people in…" She swallows as her voice breaks. "It's just not my thing."

Wally's looking at her with the same expression he gets when he's solving a difficult equation; like he knows the answer is there, he just has to work through several layers to find it. "I don't buy it." He shifts slightly, turning against the window to better look at her. "Not for a second." She doesn't know what to say, and between them the first rays of sun begin to burst across the ocean, the last sunrise of the year. Wally shifts his posture again, turning to look out the window. "Are you gonna watch this with me or what, Blondie?"

It's all too easy for him, the way his emotions shift; one second he's in too deep and the next he's a kid again, smiling at her like she's worth something and jerking his head, inviting her to move closer. She can see the place where she would fit beside him, can still see the imprints that her mask left in the hollow of his neck. She just wishes these things were as easy for her.

"No thanks. I'm going to bed."

"Artemis—"

"Goodnight, Wally."

He actually scowls at her, pouting like a small child as she gets to her feet. Then he goes back to watching the sunrise. "Good morning, you mean."

It's the little things like this that get to her, even when she's biting herself back and pressing emotions back into their compartments; Wally has this manner about him that absolutely undoes her at the best of times. It's little comments like these, the ones the remind her of better days, that wedge their way into her thoughts and make her hopeful, at least, that one day it won't be this hard.

 _Don't be stupid,_ she tells herself as she glances back at him. The shock of his ginger hair against the snow reminds her of Christmas.

* * *

If she had known what the next few hours had in store, she would have sat beside him.

Everything around them seems blurred; plans are unravelling and emotions are high and there is adrenaline pounding so hard in her ears she can't hear anything outside of her own body. It is the first time in a long time that she's considered the possibility of her death—real, irreversible death— at the hands of those in charge of her protection. The Justice League is falling, the stakes are real and very big, and there is no time for her to pull out a cellphone and whisper the words she hasn't said to her mother in a while— _I love you Mom, I missed you Mom, I'm so sorry I ever made you doubt that. You are enough for me, we are a real family all on our own—_ and instead of a selfish moment of weakness she forces herself to fire her arrows straight, forces herself to grit her teeth and put her life at risk just for the chance—the smallest chance—that she can save everyone else's.

"Artemis?"

It takes a moment to pull herself out of her own head, swallowing the panic rising at the back of her throat and focusing on Wally's eyes. They're waiting on the signal from Kaldur, and taking refuge in a supply closet near both their targets seemed ideal at the time.

The closet isn't cramped by any means, just a few boxes in a corner and a half-filled shelf of old paper work, but it isn't doing anything to help the anxiety gnawing at her—she wants action, she wants a purpose, a distraction from the fact that she can almost count the amount of hours she has left before she lives or dies on one hand. Instead she's standing with her muscles so tense that they're practically popping out from under her kevlar suit with Wally pacing in front of her, filling the whole room with the scent of nervousness and walnuts.

He turns on his heel a little too quickly to be his normal walking pace. "You alright?"

"Yes." She's practically bristling at him, her nervousness forcing her defense to come up a little too quickly. One of the muscles in her shoulders tightens, sending a jolt through her neck.

Wally stills unexpectedly, hovering a little awkwardly in front of her. "You sure? ... You've got that look on your face."

She can't stop her brows from furrowing, her lower lip jutting out a little defiantly. "Look?"

In response Wally's hand flies to his neck, looking sheepish and like he's letting on a little too much. "You, uh, get a look when you're nervous. I noticed it, that day in your kitchen…" She can feel her cheeks redden slightly at the memory and forces herself to glare at the wall—she can't believe him, bringing up stuff like that in a middle of a mission…

There's a silence that seems to take all the air out of the room for a moment, and she can't help but think… Remembering how it felt that day, seeing her mother's wheelchair abandoned on the floor… The overwhelming regret about not telling her what she needed to say, and again feeling it now and being helpless… This might be her only shot…

 _Because even if she is broken she wants him to know that he's still her best friend. She wants him to know that she wouldn't have kept herself together if it wasn't for him... Wants to thank him for coming back to her when she thought he wouldn't._

She can feel the panic rising in the back of her throat again, and that more than anything prompts her to speak, her arms crossing protectively in front of her chest. "… Hey."

He glances at her, something in her face forcing him to turn his head towards her, surveying her from only a few feet away. "Yeah?'

She's a little unsure as how to breach the subject; she doesn't exactly have an instinct for this kind of thing. She forces herself to stand up straight and abandon the wall she's been leaning on, her feet pawing out a half step in front of her. "Listen." She swallows. "Just in case something—"

He cuts her off before she can even reach her stride, glaring. "Don't."

"Wally—"

"I said don't, Artemis." His voice is a little too loud and they spend a few seconds in a tense silence, listening to see if their cover has been blown. She watches his throat bob underneath his suit as he swallows, pulling himself together and forcing himself to speak more quietly. "We aren't going to talk like that, okay? We're going to make it."

The way he says it, the way he's forcing his mouth into a smile breaks something inside of her; suddenly the panic at the back of her throat has burst forward and there are tears stinging at her eyes. She forces her eyes shut so as to not watch his face as he realizes she's losing it.

He doesn't reach for her like she thought he would; instead he's moved as close as he can without touching her, the heat radiating off of him and warming her skin. "No just in case, okay? We don't need those. I need you to focus, okay? Artemis?"

She feels the skin across her nose tighten as she sucks in a breath, stars popping in front of her eyes as she forces them open. She's going to die tonight and she wants him to kiss her, wants to have a piece of him in her hands to hold until the end, but she knows better. He won't touch her, not now, not when it would be so much easier to hide in here than to get the job done. They need to stay focused, they need to keep their heads on straight, now is not the time for teenage hormones or embraces or panic attacks. He needs her to turn off that part of her and focus only on staying alive.

She pulls him into focus, first his eyes and then his mouth, taking in his features with such an intensity that she could place every freckle on a map. She doesn't know if this is the last time they will look at each other.

"No just in case." She repeats. The communicator crackles in her ear.

* * *

She's breathless when they all come together, miraculously still alive.

It seems impossible, borderline crazy that they are all anything but dead— they are all injured, yes, but still breathing and standing victorious as the Justice League begins to rise all around them, groaning and frail and entirely themselves again.

Somewhere above them a mechanical voice sprouts the words, "Happy New Year" and the notes of an unfamiliar tune are passed over her ears—she only has a moment to beam around at her teammates before Wally grabs her.

He sweeps her up the same way he did in Bialya, only this time it's not just the two of them; she can feel her cheeks reddening as her Teammates raise their brows and exchange surprised looks, and it takes a certain amount of courage for her not to hide her face in his neck. Wally swallows twice before he speaks, already looking like already he's overanalyzing what he's about to do.

"I should have done this a long time ago." He admits, blush bleeding out from under his mask. It takes her a half a second to register what is about to happen.

"No kidding." She manages to mutter as he leans in.

Their second kiss couldn't be more different than their first; there's no fighting to get closer, no screaming and hateful words exchanged. Wally's lip is still bleeding when he presses against her much more neatly than the last time, filling her mouth with the metallic taste of blood and the unknown walnut scent. It's much more than a kiss, she realizes as he tilts his jaw against hers, his mouth chastely staying closed. It's a promise, made in front of everyone, that neither of them will run away anymore. Or at least he won't. She'll just try not to.

She can hear a few jeers around her and almost pulls away, only ducking her chin for a second before Wally leans in more, his teeth taking her lower lip into his mouth and suckling her closer. In the back of her mind she registers herself making a sweet sound in the back of her throat that Wally repeats as she winds her hands around his neck.

"Alright, Kid. Give the girl some air."

Wally pulls back and almost drops her immediately, grinning sheepishly up at The Flash. All the other senior members of the Justice League are beginning to approach them, forcing what appeared to be a hormone fueled moment apart. "Uncle Barry…" Wally groans, rolling his eyes.

In the hour that follows they repeat the day's events so many times that her throat grows raw, and by the time they're finished it feels as if they weren't successful at all. There's too much to plan, too many mysteries to solve. Unceremoniously they scatter, all leaving at different times without saying goodbye, minds too caught up in the disappearance of Roy or the unaccounted for time or the fact that they are alive and very well shouldn't be.

She sees Wally out of the corner of her eye, gazing steadily at the Earth from behind the safety of the window paned glass, and at once her feet change their tread from the zeta tubes towards him. She can still taste him on her lips, the stinging of old blood and something sweet imprinting itself there. For once there's time for them to do all the talking and all the things she's not good at, and now that she's faced with the possibility of letting her walls down again she's guarded.

She hesitates slightly before coming to a stop beside him, standing more than a foot away. "Nice view." Is all she says.

She keeps her eyes straight ahead as he glances at her, but she can sense the smile on his face as he goes back to looking out the window. "Yeah. Even from 384,400 kilometers away."

She waits until he starts shifting his feet, his need to move out weighing his excitement at seeing their planet from such a distance, before she speaks. "Where are you going now? Home?"

"Maybe." He shrugs. "Where are you going?"

She can sense something buried beneath the question— _I'll go wherever you go—_ and she forces herself to bite the inside of her cheek to keep her lips from splitting into a grin. "Come on." She sighs, smacking him affectionately around the shoulder.

He doesn't repeat his question, but as they're walking he takes her hand; for so long he's been leading her places, been leading her down a path towards this moment, and suddenly she's unprepared for what the future holds. She doesn't know very much: doesn't know how to sort out her feelings for the boy beside her, doesn't know if she's strong enough for what she knows she wants to do. The whole thing is terrifying.

He squeezes her hand when they approach the zeta tube, watching her punch in digits. "The Cave?" He questions.

"I want a cup of tea." She tells him.

She takes a step back and feels her molecules scrambling, hears the disembodied voice say her name. Wally follows.

* * *

 **AN: I don't even know where to start.**

 **First of all, this is not the end. I've decided to write a sister to this piece with Wally's point of view (which is already planned and in the beginning stages of being written) to fill the lull before I start my bigger pieces: a story that follows the pair over the course of the time lapse between seasons 1 and 2, and if I get ambitious a piece that would follow the events of season 2 and possible the year or so afterward. It's the beginning of a very large project I've had in the works for a while and I'm both excited and terrified to start it, and I'm hoping you all will put up the with Wally piece as I struggle to fill time while I get myself organized.**

 **Second... I don't even know where to begin. When I first wrote this piece I had my reservations about even publishing it; I arrived late to the fandom and I was really worried I wouldn't have an audience. You guys have beyond overwhelmed me with the amount of support and praise I've received... Never in my wildest dreams did I think this would happen.**

 **I have to thank every reader, but especially my reviewers who made writing for you all so exciting. There's nothing more special than realizing that people adore what you're writing, and from the bottom of my heart I thank you for your kind words and opinions; you have no idea what it means to me.**

 **Well, that's it for me. Until we meet again.**

 **-knottedblonde**


	14. Author's Note

**AN: For those of you who wanted an update on when the sequel to this piece would be published, I figured I would post this author's note: the sequel, Parenthesis, is now up and ready to be pursued.**

 **Please enjoy, and read & review!**


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